Jane's thoughts on a sleeve
by Samruddhithebookgeek
Summary: This is something I was inspired to write after reading shadowdweller's 'The truth of how I feel' and those amazing drabbles by nic73 whose 'literary' toes I hope I'm not stepping on, as I've tried to continue with the theme but in my own way and selected my fav moments from each episode where I try to understand what is going on inside the enigma that is Jane.
1. Chapter 1

**The quote tells from which part of the episode these drabbles are written. If you don't have access to the videos, get the transcripts or scripts (for season 1) online.**

**I do not own The Mentalist and make no money from this.**

**Season 1 episode 9**

"**Just like they killed Rich and tried to kill Trey!"**

It is sickening to watch all the panic, guilt and selfishness of the bastard. He deserves much worse than the grilling Cho and Rigs are giving him.

It's time to bring to light all of his murderous sins.

"**You want to know my guess?"**

Fear clouds his eyes as I say with complete confidence the name of his victim.

This scum of a clown is way too complacent in his own assumptions. As I tear down his façade of ego, pitting his words against himself, my rage grows unconsciously unchecked.

This son of a bitch killed someone who considered him a friend, just for the sake of something as petty as money. And he thinks he can get away with it without paying for his sins?

I feel an odd satisfaction that the boy is wreaking his vengeance upon these murderers.

I lose myself to the anger raging inside me and utter the darkest of wishes upon him; aware that everyone caught the truth in it.

Cursing at myself for having given so much away, I try to think that maybe it's good that the team knows my intentions, so that when the time comes, they will allow me what is my right with minimal fuss.

"**Two notes here."**

Ah, I've done it again- undermining Lisbon's authority under her nose.

I have to admire her ferocity in being cool and collected while handling me.

She never gets insecure about it.

And here comes her extreme nobility in performing justice. For her, even the worst of these scumbags deserve equality and protection.

But Machado is essential to my plan of killing two birds with one stone. Anyway he deserves all the misery, panic and terror wrought upon him, all the threat to his life. He should get all that is met out to him.

Lisbon always takes the high road of the law whereas my brand of justice has been clear and simple from the beginning. I should've predicted that Lisbon would disagree. Even after seeing the worst elements of humanity day after day, she keeps her emotions, her level of commitment to the law and the job intact. She is fierce in her belief of this flawed system. Sometimes her naïveté leaves me staggering.

There's no line between justice and vengeance for me.

Peace will find me only over my Red Whale's dead body.

"**Trying some kind of reverse psychology?"**

Ah Lisbon! She thinks that I will beat myself up the wall for the death of scum like Ben Machado! I want to laugh out on her face. If she has such juvenile thoughts about me, maybe she doesn't see my true intention of this hunt, maybe she needs to know that where I stand is way too farther than where she does.

I can see she is unnerved by my casual yet absolutely true admission. She is torn between horror at my brutality and fear regarding the lengths I'm willing to go for my revenge. I have deliberately given her the absolute core of truth. Now she can decide if she wants a way out. This team has, somehow to my conscious reluctance, gained my trust. If something happens to them because of me or my pursuit of revenge then they deserve fair warning of what they're getting themselves into; they deserve a way out.

Lisbon is, as predictable, placing unprecedented faith in the dreary process of the law. I feel a twinge of disappointment that I refuse to acknowledge. This is good. As long as she thinks she's in control of this hunt, I can do what I have to, in subversion. I shouldn't be too disappointed that she considers my Red Whale as just another case to be solved and to move forward from. Because if she doesn't get too involved in this, she has the chance to come out of it unscathed. And to my surprise, I desperately want it for her no matter how low of an opinion she has of me.

Her threat is very real. In a way she feels it's obligatory for her to warn me of her intentions because of our vast difference in opinions. I have no doubt that she'll act on them. I try to give off an amused smile while struggling to control the numerous emotions roiling inside me.

I secretly glance at the glass separating her and congratulate Lisbon for throwing me off-balance when no one has succeeded to do it in a long time.

"**You have root beer?"**

At that, my smile widens a bit. Oh, he's good. Even an interrogator like Cho doesn't know how to handle him. It amuses me that Lisbon thinks someone is manipulating him even in spite of all the 'solid physical evidence' on him that cops like so much. I put a stop to all her hilariously wrong speculations and step in to expose the real Tommy within.

"**I can see you."**

All my targeted words slowly disarm his armor, his act. As I deliver the final blow, I literally see his transformation. It's terrifying to look into the eyes of such a twisted monster and yet I train my eyes to see through them. His face and his body language accommodate the change. I try to lighten up with taunted greetings. I can imagine Lisbon's face twisted in horror and disbelief. I commence to thoroughly deconstruct the boy before me.

"**Ahab does die, doesn't he?"**

I hope to prod him more, to hit him with his favourite book, to make him understand that revenge doesn't come cheap, that there's a price heavier than what he' willing to pay because here he is- the act fallen through to broken pieces, the ugliness having eaten through to the soul.

His conviction in this knowledge surprises me. One part of me agrees with him wholeheartedly and the other is trying to extract the confession while struggling to remain on track. I feel horror at what he says. There's a ruthlessness, a certain thirst for bloodlust, a level of cruelty that I think is lacking within me as I hear this boy telling his successful tale of vengeance.

Will I sound like this monster when I finish my hunt? Will I sell my soul to destroy my Red Whale?

Even as I stare at my broken reflection, I know the answer to these questions.

Yes, it is redemptive and it will be redemptive.

When the boy scoffs at me that I would not understand, I laugh inside with bitterness and deep self-loathing.

Of course I would. Because I'm the only one who can.

"**Revenge is for fools and mad men."**

I think I sell the line pretty good to young Maddy Garcia. She has a long fulfilling life ahead of her. It's for the best if she tries to forget this whole thing and move on with her life. She has a mother who loves her no matter what.

For a broken man like me, though, revenge is the only path left if I want to live.

Lisbon, my honest, trusting Lisbon that she is, falls for the line and feels happy that this case knocked some sense into me.

I hate to disillusion her but she needs to see me in the harshest light possible at all times.

Truthfully that knowing smile, those trusting eyes, scare me so I avoid staring into the hooded greens and enjoy the sprint in this first rain bringing hope to this drought-filled place.

This rain which kind of reminds me of Lisbon…


	2. Chapter 2

**The quote tells from which part of the episode these short insights are written. If you don't have access to the videos, get the transcripts or scripts (for season 1) online.**

**I do not own The Mentalist and make no money from this.**

**Season 1 Episode 10**

"**Someone called Sophie Miller?"**

My whole body freezes of it's own volition. I'm embarrassed to admit that I can't control my reactions when something like this surprises me.

It has only been less than a couple of years and yet it feels like ages. Everything that I think I've left behind, slams at me with deadly force. My shame and embarrassment are almost palpable in their form even to an outsider.

I try to grapple with her intentions. Retracting my denial, I'm consciously shaking in my boots as I take the call. Because I might have been a coward many times over, but I'm not one to forget my debts.

"**You don't want to know."**

It's painfully obvious what Lisbon's trying to do. She's trying to get inside my head to get to know more about my 'relationship' with Sophie Miller. I try to tell her what she wants to hear and stonewall her poking.

Yet she continues almost stubbornly, now dispensing all guise of pretense. She has some vague ideas as to who Sophie is to me. They're wrong but I don't try to disillusion her. No matter how much she imagines, she could never guess what our connection is. Maybe it's somewhat dishonest and selfish of me but I don't want her to lose whatever fragile respect she has for me or she might glimpse at the gritty damaged man that I am if she knows too much.

Some truths are too horrible to be known.

Some truths deserve to remain secrets.

"**Tell me the truth."**

Minelli must have reamed their asses. No wonder everyone back in the bullpen was glum.

But how can I give Lisbon what she demands? Although somewhere inside, I know she deserves it. How many times has she put her career on the line to protect me? Sure she huffs or scowls and rolls her eyes while doing it but she does it of her own volition and that counts for something because no matter how many times I've proven unworthy of her trust, she still somehow reluctantly believes in me. So maybe she deserves a partial truth. I don't need to tell her everything.

"**But you hate psychiatrists so you always say.."**

Oh wow, she's really persistent in pulling my teeth out, isn't she? I still try to give out partial truths in order to keep my dignity intact.

But her bull headedness wears me off. What the hell! I let my guard slip entirely and let it all out. Might as well tell her truthfully what I've been tiptoeing around. The wait is excruciating in it's length.

I see it as it dawns on her. She tries to give it some dimension. She's trying to recalibrate her sense of me because what she has percieved me to be, is ripped off like a band-aid.

I feel as if I'm completely naked in front of her but she's obviously very shocked. She never would've imagined this. I try not to read her but I feel relieved and gratified that there's no pity on her anywhere. She feels completely off balance as if her guard has come crashing down just as mine. She's trying to empathize with me. She feels sad for me.

I don't break our eye contact because it feels like I'll lose something if I do.

I realize I trust her to this secret and allow her to share some tiny bit of it's burden. I show her my vulnerability and she tucks it deep inside so that no one else will be able to get at it, as if it were the most natural of instincts.

I let her gratitude for my honesty soak in. She knows how hard it was for me to actually get the words out and so I apologize for keeping it from her, in turn for her gratitude. I should've predicted her trustworthiness because it seems as inevitable as day.

When she makes her way out, still reeling in the knowledge, I wonder how I got to actually telling her anything, why I honestly told her at all when I had decided on saying nothing.

"**What can I say, I'm just drawn to controlling and emotionally damaged men."**

Sophie's trying to be flippant about it. There's a lot going on here. My memories keep on assaulting me and yet it's clear as day that She's is hiding something and covering it up by alluding seduction to me. I would pretend to be flattered if not for the deceit. She throws me off when I ask her questions about the violent relationship with her ex. I get down to brass tacks and tell her unpretentiously that she is the reason for my second life. I hope to see an honest reaction and there it is, her guile or maybe something else…

As she walks away, I am pulled back to that eminently dangerous place that I had been after my family was killed.

The white walls, the red streaks, the smiley face, my blood, Red John in my dreams, Red John everywhere, taunting me... I remember it all, even the drug induced stupors. It's a horrifying place and I'm afraid to spiral down to it if I don't pull myself out fast. Back then I thought that life had finished, that I had no reason to live for.

It was Sophie who reminded me that there was- Revenge.

"**You really want this case to be over, don't you?"**

Well, isn't that our job? Lisbon's being unusually aggressive which is pretty out of character or maybe in character, I doubtfully remain on the fence. She comes to her point in a lame roundabout way without subtlety; though in hindsight, I might conclude that she is being reasonable, even sensible. As she constructs her statements, I begin to get hit by her honest undeniable logic. She isn't just throwing it out there for a flimsy reason, she's just rounding up the suspects. She probably would've done this earlier if it weren't for me. As I let the logic guide me, anger builds in. I begin to think of the best angle to get at Sophie for which I loathe myself. God, I could kick myself for this. Maybe I should've seen this earlier. All of the signs were there but I brushed them under the rug because I had been blinded by the personal connection. But I won't slip up now that I've discovered the betrayal.

It is the ultimate mistake to play me; not to mention she used me like a pawn for her, as yet unknown, benefit.

All she did was violate my trust, when I put mine in her, believing she was the one person who would do it faithfully in return.

"**Pride, delusion, greed."**

I try to disguise my horror at her falling apart and confessing everything as if to a priest. I guessed that there would be deceit but not of such magnitude. My brain quickly flies through the warning signs and the manipulation and I begin to wonder if I had been anything but a mark to her.

This huge conspiracy to further a hollow theory. There's no one to blame but myself for not seeing this sooner. I continue or try to at least make her confess but I quickly lose my cool and turn away from her.

She basically knew the motive for this murder and yet she said not a word to me. After all this, she has the gall to look ashamed, guilty and pained; after calmly manipulating me and pushing my buttons to serve her purpose.

I try to remind myself of the last time we saw each other just before I was going to be released from the clinic, but her deceit imprints, refusing to fade away. I try to warn her, try to keep myself centered by all the betrayal. Away from her, I try to calm my heart and mind.

"**Thank you. ****That's the finest thing anyone has done for me." (*from the original script)**

I laugh humorless yet full of disparagement. She thinks I would have let her get away with it! I tell her in raw crudity that if she had walked, I would have mercilessly told Lisbon on her in under two minutes and come to arrest her myself.

She has sadness on her face watching my candid brutality, thinking that this is what it has come to. But she understands the consequences, I think, and accepts them.

"**Jane kissed a girl."**

Lisbon's voice is light and teasing. It can soothe my pain, if I let it. But I don't have the heart to play along with her. I am so swallowed in my thoughts that even Lisbon notices. I feel amused by her offer to let me have control and drive at whatever speed I may fancy even when she's afraid of precisely that. I begin to see the change in her behavior, in her treatment of me. Not once has she shown any prejudicial judgment after knowing my weak spot. I assumed after what happened it would change our relationship for the worse or at least, her behavior would catalog some uneasiness or some such.

But where Lisbon is concerned, it has only grown stronger.

I am not sure if it makes me happy or scared.


	3. Chapter 3

**The quote tells from which part of the episode these short insights are written. If you don't have access to the videos, get the transcripts or scripts (for season 1) online.**

**I do not own The Mentalist and make no money from this.**

Season1 Episode 11

This is one of my favorites and the one of the hardest one to write.

"**Killed your wife and daughter huh?"**

My first reaction should be to destroy his extremely elevated self-image, show him a distorted mirror and coerce him to spit it out. But it has become fairly easy to conceal my true reaction to this statement over time. It's especially easier in this case, as his words are dripping with the intent to provoke and ensnare. I do not like to be played with. I dislike it even more so when that person does it to beg for my attention yet needs my skills for his own purposes.

But I will stoop even lower if I have to. Every inch of rope to grab, every bit of light to illuminate my Red Whale; every bit of scrap to fuel my revenge is welcome.

"**You're a clever, unprincipled narcissist in a desperate corner."**

He has already gotten off the wrong foot, what with trying to play me and now he has the egoistic confidence of asking me to clear his name off a crime that he very clearly has been proven guilty of. Even if I do manage to perform this herculean feat, how do I trust him? He has not given the slightest indication regarding his connection or how he comes by this information. Working in the Serious Crimes Unit of the CBI has given me incredible underappreciated experience which says that this man is extremely risky to invest in; not barring the least of reasons that he's not willing to give a millimeter of what he knows but wants to take all that he can get. I really shouldn't have gotten my hopes up for this but every tiny bit of information about my nemesis goes a long way and I'm loathe to let any opportunity pass by me unexplored. I try to stifle that twinge of disappointment. I take solace in Lisbon's hilarious usual belief that good solid police work will get me where I want.

"**Painted them with her own blood."**

For that moment, nothing gets to me- not his smug condescension, nor the taunt, neither the desperation, nor his bold move to play me. Just that fact that he knew something so well-hidden, only a handful of police, me and the actual perpetrator could know it. If he had seen my face, he would have known he had me because I was utterly bemused and hooked like a mark. This wealthy spoilt brat going on a downward spiral, how would someone like him have any association with my monster? Weighed by my duty, my obsession, I take him on. No matter how impossible it might seem, I need to believe that this man is innocent of the crime he has been proven to be guilty. Because that is the key to get him out of here and ultimately leading me to my Red Whale, one way or another.

"**My desire for revenge doesn't outweigh the rules."**

Right from my first day, I knew that the director of CBI would pose as much of a threat to my mission as the asset he proves to be; he would be, in a way, even tougher to manipulate than Lisbon. It was just my luck, I managed to make Hannigan of the exploitable temperamental issues, punch me and thus give reason to threaten the reputation of Minelli's beloved CBI. Minelli can shut me down even before I start, for the same reason he took me on. The irony is ridiculous.

I radiate the pure calm and steel of my resolve to pursue any door of inquiry, however slim the crack might be. There's an underlying threat in my eye that I can't quite cover as Minelli's denials to take on the case keep on piling. All of my powers of persuasion would be at a loss against his stubborn bull-headedness- this I have known from the beginning. Therefore I have no choice but to resort to plan B which is more up to my speed anyway…

I try to placate him to the best of my possibilities. An amusing carny flier of two stubborn bulls flashes through my mind as I do my 'wide-eyed innocence with tail between the legs' act. Neither of them is buying it because they know this is the reason why I'm here at all; but at least I can leave the room to get on with my plan.

"**So I can say 'I told you so' later."**

Hah, and what are the chances of _that _happening? I suppose it's natural for her to feel protective and try to stop someone who she thinks is about to make a mistake, because she has been forced to be a grown up from a very young age. As she compels me to face the obvious points of the case that seem irreversible, I grimace internally and concede to give her a point but when she states my fears in such sincere despair, I have to flinch. I try to avoid thinking of it and become anxious to get going. I'm seriously tempted when she reluctantly states Minelli's directive, to take her up on it but it won't be any good to either of us and I'm slightly relieved when she lets me off the hook, provided I follow some loose guidelines of her design to which I quickly agree (the first of these, makes me laugh and find her quite endearing).

"**Why not? It's a free country."**

The combined pressure weighs down the room but I remind myself that it can weigh me down only if I let it. I choose not to. Levity and audacious optimism are the only qualities to exercise; they aid me to surviving most situations. It's a constant battle- one that I refuse to stop fighting.

But Minelli's being unusually oppressive, I mean, it is my name. I have to use at least that to introduce myself to people. Gardener Renfrew is simply acting out like a spoilt sissy brat scolded down by his mama, therefore is bent on getting back this way, don't they see it? I look at Lisbon in ill-concealed disbelief protesting Minelli's misguided outrage. Lisbon doesn't give me anything, although she does feel slight sympathy and defeated resignation, her stern poker face says she can't do much about it because of her 'rules are rules' policy.

Stating on clear terms that I can't pursue further inquiries tells me that Minelli won't accept more sneaking around and doing as I like. I can't do that and spare no time or bullshit in telling him this. They know that going after Red John is the sole reason I got into CBI. He knows. I try to assure them that there's a good chance that this isn't a wild goose chase that could get hairy. Lisbon chooses the wrong moment to show her logical skepticism and I attempt to smooth it over. Diverting them with charm and wit or fairytale characters is evidently not working because Minelli has worked himself up to block all kinds of maneuvers. He supplies another less damaging but thoroughly unproductive method of going after this. It's like a 'death match' and I refuse to give up but so does he. He pulls out the big guns and pins me to a corner thinking he can sit on me until I yield to his bidding. Hah, he should've known better. But something hits me and I have a moment of clarity. I am a liability and if I continue, these innocent people will go down because of me and I very much do not want that. In this moment, I remember I am not really a part of this team as much as I want to believe that I am. My purpose has always been different than theirs. I'm only fooling myself if I believe otherwise. These are good people devoted to a noble profession and they deserve to do it in peace without me complicating it.

Lisbon takes me by surprise with her sincere plea to stay when I toss my I.D. Despite our shaky foundation and fragile relationship, she doesn't want to give up on me so I let my guard down for her, for that moment. It's almost moving to watch her unencumbered emotions. But I ignore her despondency with charming bravado and exit the office trying to ignore the weight.

"**Hey Lisbon? Thank you."**

Dead ends. Nothing but dead ends. Working with Lisbon and her team has definitely spoilt me to rely on others and now I'm coming to terms with the magnitude of my decision and its effect. I had left CBI so that I could really focus without restraints. But it really isn't getting me anywhere. The black sedan outside the old Kopecki house had definitely been intriguing though. Red John or P.I.? Red John… Just when I think I'm closer to him he dances away from my grasp. How I wish I could just extract all the information I need from Renfrew and finally hunt _him_ down… How I wish I could make him pay dearly right now for what he has done to my family… how I wish I could give him a thousand deaths…

I'm surprised but I shouldn't be when I see Lisbon's call. I read between the lines and note that they all tried to stick up for me after my departure and got suspended for it. How foolish of them and yet I feel warmth and hope hit me somewhere, clogging at my throat.

My team- Our team. And I hope I can convey all of what I feel, through that one measly 'thank you'. By the tenor of her voice, I think Lisbon gets it.

"**Dr. Joe in New Hampshire."**

Anagram. It's obvious. Suddenly there's a rush of adrenaline to my head. I feel giddy. I have never felt as sure of anything as I do right now. Typing a simple opener, of acknowledging my presence, is a test and _he_ knows because he expects it. He thinks we're playing right into his hands, that we are puppets and he's the master of control; that we're doing exactly what he wants us to do, because he's afraid; terrified of his mistakes and the blowbacks; that they affect his identity and safety. He should be. My fingers are tingling as I type the four keys with such force that the laptop screen shakes with it. Even through this cyber connection, I know it's him on the other side of the link. He won't be there long though and when the I.M. locator fails its trace, shaking off the taste of anticlimax, I feel as triumphant as a general that has won his battle. But the war is _far_ from over. A thousand threads run off into millions of tangents.

He's revealing far too much by taking this risk to taunt me in my face. I promise that it's going to cost him more than he can ever imagine. His hubris, his complacency, his buoyancy in himself will be the reason for his torturous end.

"**No, you try."**

Why should I have all the fun? Lisbon needs to try her hand at this sometimes… Besides I'm having fun watching her squirm by throwing her out of her comfort zone. As much as I've missed the team, I know they've missed me too. I can't be there forever with her and Lisbon needs to learn some of this stuff too. Who knows, a little spice with her boring 'good solid' police work might make it a bit more fun for her. Hah! That is if she can overcome her awkward 'people' skills. It's fun to watch her try. But I take over when she's out of her depth and literally threatens me with her no-nonsense eyes to take it up. I never thought she would last this long!

"**Look at me, Mariska, look at me and tell me that I'm wrong."**

Her visible reactions of anger and outrage to hide the guilt, deep shame and pain she felt, are precursors, signs of weakness I exploit to unravel her. As I lay out her deepest thoughts bare, them being only too sheer just like her veil of makeup, Botox and designer resort clothes that fail to hide the lines from years of a hard life, she crumbles too effortlessly, having a low threshold. After pushing her to careful disintegration, I sit back in contempt and disgust, to watch her do it to herself, by herself. As always, Lisbon remains thoroughly professional even when she's not on the job.

"**We're doomed."**

Trust Lisbon to always be the skeptic while simultaneously making me want to laugh out loud over her only too real yet melodramatic statements… Thank god, that most other people couldn't read her blasphemous, comical and utterly bullshit style of blackmailing! Or it would've all been for naught… and yet it had to have been her because she is the senior agent.

I'm counting on the fact that some things _never_ change. It has already become an invisible source of solace.

"**We're ready to go get Renfrew."**

Everything is in place. Nobody outside the team knows the location of the safe house. Lisbon is, like clockwork, being the voice of reason. She warns me as is in her inherent nature. Her uncomfortable pessimism is not enough to burst my floating bubbles of champagne. He has been waiting for this precise moment to execute his attack. All this time he thinks that things are going according to _his_ plan but _I_ plan to disrupt it and force him to come out in the open. And his desperation to go so far as to provide information to help us get Jared out, is proof positive that he _will_.

And when he comes, he is mine.

"**It's my fault. Okay? Everyone, it's my fault."**

This is not just to placate Cho and the others. I blame myself. Because I never considered Jared to be _in_ the equation. I never took into account that he would try to escape. This was a huge miscalculated error on my part. I was prepared for an attack whereas I should have also been prepared for his escape. _He_ knew; in fact he counted on it. I should've dug deeper when I noticed something was off about Jared when he came into our custody. I should've given more credibility to my uneasiness during our impediment created by the protest mob. I should've run faster. Could've, would've, and should've…

Lisbon is right. That boat has long since sailed. Now it's a race to find Renfrew before that advantage is gone.

And then my phone rings, lighting up hope. The fool Jared is unapologetic even as he apologizes. Irony has chosen to be my obligated mistress. While I try to reason with him, my hope is doused into despair as a minute is up and if I'm right Red John has already picked up the location and I have a feeling that death is unstoppable. The web that Renfrew tantalizingly holds above me as his treasure, has become his own death sentence.

One _stupid_ mistake, just one and its Advantage Red John. I want to kick myself and bang my head against the wall.

My deduction of his location being right on the mark does nothing to ease the disgruntlement and frustration inside. I do it just to stay sane enough without feeling much of anything.

"**You have the privilege of saying 'I told you so'."**

I'm so far down into the pit of self-loathing that I welcome her throwing it in my face because I completely deserve it. With all the care put into this plan, now it's become a disaster.

Proves that Lisbon is not to be underestimated. But she is truly a miracle in herself. She treats her wise words as petty trash to be thrown out because she thinks they will mar me. Her compassion hurts and blinds me.

Her hope in catching Jared even at such a late stage can't help but inject in me that same enthused optimism, to go right along with her.

"**I don't really feel like saying it. Let me take a rain check on that."**

I'm truly down and trodden. I give her a clear potshot at me, a lecture, _anything_ really but she is affected by this just as deeply. I feel dirty, disconsolate and bone-tired and somehow I think Lisbon feels the same.

As always, we're off on different tangents. it hardly matters. Nothing does, not right now.

It's over. This chance that could've really gotten me close to my Red Whale; the small crack in the doorway slammed shut by the door. Revising through my mistakes isn't going to help but that recent streak of masochism rears its ugly head. I let all the powerlessness, all the gloom, all the failure, all the regrets and mistakes envelop me, I let myself drown; I don't want to come up.

Conceit really does go before a great fall. All the wise words in the world taught me and yet how foolish am I?

"**Next time. We'll get him"**

I didn't know how much I needed to hear those words from Lisbon until I _actually_ heard them. She must have seen me spiraling down into somewhere unhealthy.

She'll never know how much that means to me even as I agree in reply. Her forlorn bravado is appealing to observe and in that moment, I cheer up in gratitude to her attempt.

Raucous music disrupts the relative calm around us and I take the hooker's phone with weary agitation.

The cold, taunting, harsh laughter makes me grit my teeth involuntarily; mocking me, enjoying all my hapless endeavors as I stare at the dirty pink wall, unseeing yet seeing.

Too late, I realize that it is an invitation to play a game- that is on _his_ terms.

And he has given me no option, seeing as I'm already in it.


	4. Chapter 4

**The quote tells from which part of the episode these short insights are written. If you don't have access to the videos, get the transcripts or scripts (for season 1) online.**

**I do not own The Mentalist and make no money from this.**

Season 1 Episode 12

I'm not sure about this one but I want to catalog the highs and lows. Here goes...

"**I did. I put a killing spell on him."**

Ah, of course she did.

I have to admit as soon as I heard that strange word- witch, slip out, it automatically became interesting. In a way, it still is but now I know more about who Tamsin Dove, the aforementioned 'witch', actually is and how she came about the 'art of Wicca'…

Having a glance around the house I find it calming, intriguing and fascinating in a weird way. She appears to have gone through some mild form of mental disorder, Schizophrenia, I bet. There's much more around that reveals personal details of her. Even if all of it _is_ hokey, I find myself enjoying the reactions of my colleagues especially Cho. Who would've thought that serious, poker-faced, bad-ass Cho would get the heebie-jeebies if you made him stand on a pentacle or face a goat's head?

Fascinating to explore the minds of my colleagues on top of biting into a juicy mystery excluding the gruesome murder of course. Who needs anything else to amuse oneself?

"**What's it to you?" **

I supply Cho's name from beside him and smile at his hilarious reaction, if I'm not careful I could even laugh out loud!

Amusement could not get better as I glance at Lisbon smiling at Tamsin's theatrics and Cho's unnatural fear in superstition. I would have done it just to see that green light twinkling. It's not often that I get to see it, I feel more comfortable as if we've started to unconsciously be partners in, if not crimes then at least, light pranks. It feels good to share a joke.

The entertainment is not too bad if you go with the flow. After the girl finishes performing her 'spell', Lisbon's sarcasm can't help but bite. As we conclude that even how cuckoo Tamsin is, for the time being she's making sense, and head back, I call out to Cho who seems to be trapped in a stare of his own making with some burnt paper ashes… Ha haa! This is going along great!

"**That's very astute psychology, Lisbon. I'm impressed."**

I try to make it sound as sincere as possible and yet I don't know how she catches it but she huffs and grunts out an offended sound. She thinks I'm patronizing her. That reaction was worth putting in the sincerity, though…

"**We fought. He won. That's all."**

Teenagers definitely earn the single eyebrow raise and eyeroll… the boy wasn't going to be forthcoming about what he was trying to hide from us if someone didn't do something about it sooner rather than later. I feel buzzed up on all the amusement I have experienced and impatiently get inside to straighten the story out. I proceed to make the boy feel relaxed and synchronize our breathing, trying to get a beat on his pulse.

A few simple questions for the baseline and I get to the thing he's hiding. His pulse skips a beat and jackhammers then slows down, way too easy to catch. I smile at Rigs and Cho.

At the end of the day, some good work always seems rewarding…

"**You're trying to blame Cody for his own death."**

The younger boy, Brad just went out. There's something unsettling about the house, about the whole family and I get the feeling that the kid is a key to the answer. Posing some dumb yet legitimately logical question to provoke his dad, I make my excuses and go after him.

Building a rapport is easy, the kid is pretty much the opposite of the 'football star' that is his big brother. At least he smiles and that weird tension in him lessens.

"**Hmm, that's a bit weird and controlling but okay…"**

I literally see the boy beside me, quake in his shoes. His gulp is pretty audible. It's clear that I've found another angle to get at this murder. But I leave it to it for now.

"**Tamsin Dove. I like it."**

I go about her deconstruction albeit gently; only showing her that I know certain parts but not the whole. She easily reveals her weakness, maybe she can't control it after my darts hit the target. I don't want to scare her but I try to make her understand the gravity of the situation she's in.

'Wicca' is her coping mechanism to deal with the emotional abuse she has gone through. I sympathize with her. I refuse to take it from her. But she has to give me the truth- for Cody's sake.

"**So he did hurt you, just accidentally."**

Brad's mixed response has a primary undercurrent of white fear. I pick up my earlier theory and start to run with it. And as I wind him down, to calm him, I get at the horrible truth, something he gives away unconsciously.

"**How could you be so cold?"**

I want to roll my eyes and chuckle at that… such an old line doesn't get to me, especially when it's spoken by a woman like _her,_ who has to be even more frigid than the coldest ice, to know what's going on in her own house and _still_ let it happen, bearing all of it for some god forsaken bullshit reason…

It's true, practice makes man perfect. And I have enough practice at being cold. Lisbon needn't have apologized but even if she knew what I know, she probably would have, anyway so until I have solid evidence to prove my hunch, I shoulder the burden of this family's secret by myself.

I call a gentle goodbye to Brad as his parents march him out like his personal grim reapers. Soon he will get his peace, if only he lets himself.

"**Next time you speak to her, could you put a good word in for me?"**

Her smile is good to see. More power to 'Wicca' and her Goddess, I guess… but, now I realize why I felt that little smidgen of envy regarding her that I couldn't put my finger on. After all that she has suffered, she found peace. In my weaker moments, I doubt. Will I?

"**This is god speaking. You've made me angry Michael, very angry."**

Eh, Lisbon's just miffed that the plan, my little spell, worked like a charm! This time, the 'I'll show you' part didn't get screwed up like it used to in early days. Ah sweet success!

"**Good that they had you to keep them in line, huh? Some people just don't understand how lucky they are."**

My focus is only equally balanced by my utter concrete abhorrence towards the monster in this room. I guess, I thought, I had seen all types of 'em when a new scumbag emerges fresh from the earth to create hell.

I know I have him by his balls right from the minute I begin pulling out his arrogant bullshit belief in and of himself.

He actually holds true that what he does, is as right as the word of god in a bible.

What would drive a man to be as perverse as this? And yet as I lay out what he has been committing for years, the shame is out for even a child to see. As I mechanically pull apart every act he has committed, his guilty self-righteous anger and pathetic attempts to defend himself, are satisfyingly gleeful to watch.

This monster definitely has his comeuppance too far deeply due.

There's just one last hope to give.

When I tell Brad and his mother the truth, I wish they recognize the horror and pain of their suffering for what it is and they try to recover; to find peace in their future.

It is my ardent hope.

"**Just a little favor for Cho."**

Cho, who is stoic to the T, feels hysterically witless by Tamsin's spell. It was fun to get to know his weak spot but he merits his own peace. Hope these paper ashes in a jar give him just that.

Like I said, at the end of the day, some good work always feels rewarding…


	5. Chapter 5

**The quote tells from which part of the episode these short insights are written. If you don't have access to the videos, get the transcripts or scripts (for season 1) online.**

**I do not own The Mentalist and make no money from this.**

7x10 isgoing to KILL me... Anyway...

Season 1 Episode 14

"**You're a forensic expert now?"**

I let it slide. I'm surprised to note that it doesn't really offend me in the slightest, because Lisbon doesn't mean it that way. She begrudges her acceptance in my observations yet holds steadfast to her sensible skepticism. Marks her to be apart from most people. She doesn't mind the inferiority when someone disproves her theories or points her in the right direction because she's secure of herself. In fact she's all for it, rather eager to learn and focused on getting the truth; almost like a zealous nun in her dedication to the job.

And when her skepticism proves to be completely eradicated, she forgets to exercise it. She unconsciously begins to trust me and treat me as her partner, an equal. It is more than a little gratifying becasue she doesn't realize it.

"**A total stranger took you back to her room, treated your wound, and then had sexual intercourse with you."**

Lisbon is trying to gauge if I see any signs of lying in this guy. For now there are none. But other things emerge… They soon reveal themselves and Lisbon's reactions are a lot similar to mine. She's partly disgusted, partly finds humor in his statements. When he elaborates further, she fairly shouts out her thoughts of 'Is he seriously saying that?' momentarily distracted by her line of investigation.

When he defines his profession, I can't help the little sound of sly humor slipping out of my mouth…It's natural that Lisbon and I share the humor as she continues her questioning. I thought she would be more distracted but her line of inquisition is sound. After all, the guy tries to exude automatic charm in front of attractive women and he definitely has interest right now even with her severe aura and no-makeup face.

Fricke chills a degree colder when I ask my question. It is to be expected. But he's way too complacent with his 'Freud' comment and I decide to mess with him a little. As a base line, I already have those tells when he's speaking the truth so I need to watch him tell a lie. Then I ask the real question. There're two possibilities but I lean toward the latter.

The 'something to show your grand kids' comment turns Fricke off but he rather likes the idea that an ex-lover is out for revenge… Hah, how does he even have the nerve to deny his 'mommy' issues?

This'll be fun!

"**Like we're toasters?!"**

I'm just trying to oversimplify the mechanics! But it backfires on me when I see that Lisbon and VanPelt are disgusted sprinkled with a heavy dose of outrage.

Both of them are predictable feminists, I should elaborate more to clarify… but I never get the chance. I truly did mean that as a compliment! One step forward, a hundred steps back! Ah, well…

"**Nice shoes, loneliness…"**

Claire Wolcott reminds me of how Angela might have felt when I used to travel a lot before my show hit the road, more so after it did. So I regret. Yet how much she felt, is just the surface of how I feel now that Angie and Charlotte are gone.

And so I regret…

"**Don't take too long, I'm hungry."**

It's Rigsby's reluctant and unfortunate turn to chaperone me. But luckily he's pretty soft to win over. The patio door opens to illumination. I guess we'll have to see Fricke sooner than later. And what a pleasure it will be.

"**T****here're a thousand ways to seduce a woman…"**

Oh boy, here we go… ladies and gentlemen, here is the Love Guru, the Serial Seducer, the self-proclaimed 'Sex Machine' doling out his 'top ten' methods to do what he does- perform meaningless vagrant sex with attractive, susceptible married women to solve his 'mommy' issues! Please do not take his 'advice'…

Ah but Rigsby has always been an easy mark. I'm certainly feeling the second step of Fricke's brilliant guide, alright! Contempt.

I have my thread begin to untangle while observing Katie the waitress react to Fricke's diatribe. Unwittingly pouncing on it, I file away a possible connection. But I'll give him that play if he wants to cower behind falsehoods. After all he hasn't really garnered much respect from me… now for my little test to ascertain his complicity which gets me further headway into a tangent.

"**Mr. Wolcott, it's about your wife's lover…"**

What a self-serving pretentious shallow little narcissistic buffoon is he?

How dare he parade around, making pointless jokes and enjoying alcohol with like-minded air-heads when his wife has been killed just a couple of days ago? He should be on edge to follow any news or leads regarding her death and try to push the investigation as much as he can because ultimately, she was his wife.

He owes her to do right by her. Yet here he is pretending that all is well, pretending that his wife hasn't been murdered simply days ago. How can he live with himself? How can he not have the fervent desire to find out who killed her?

I haven't really done anything 'daring' by calling, this excuse of a human, out on his shit.

He can dream on to eternity if he wishes to have any scrap of respect from me… He should be grateful that he received only a flick on the nose. It's only a particle of what he deserves.

"**I did. I did it. The seas didn't boil. The sky didn't fall"**

I sigh a little. Lisbon will be Lisbon. But it's interesting that there are times when she firmly believes in her code of decency, and that's a _pretty_ strict code, as far as I can tell. She blames herself. She thinks she could've avoided this if only she had been there. I don't try to tell her that she's wrong. She would reprimand my impulsive behavior, nonetheless. It never gets boring to acknowledge that I find this endearing, stable and a sort of a lifeline… There is a strange kind of comfort of us being ourselves in our banter. Sometimes when I can't come up with a ready comeback to her probing- I distract her to hide it which works effectively enough.

When she tweaks my nose in her irritation and foreboding of my prediction, I can't control my reaction of hilarity! A day should never complete itself without this!

"**The Cho! No business like Cho business!"**

I didn't really have the confidence that he could pull it off. I had been ready to guide him over the microphone but he took me by pleasant surprise. First, that effective line to dismiss those two ladies and now this… Goes to show these guys should, not in hell, be ever underestimated.

Now let's see if my hunch of this murder being connected to Katie the waitress, is correct.

"**You have to have patience, woman!"**

Lisbon, my dear Lisbon, her doubt knows no bounds. I suppose she will always bear that as long as it's one of my cons because of what has happened on occasion and the complications that arise due to it. Rigsby's, as ever, refusing to butt in because of Lisbon The Fierce… it is heartening. Helps me keep my sanity.

"**I care. I care about Claire Wolcott." **

Does he even _hear_ himself? How twisted does he have to be, to think killing an innocent woman- a woman who was someone's wife, is okay just to soothe his guilt? Frankly _any_ excuse is inadmissible.

By pursuing her killer and punishing him, I prove his thought to be absolutely erroneous. I prove to him that justice does exist and that Claire Wolcott deserves it no matter what she has done in her life. Because she was a living person. She was someone's wife.

Just like my Angie.

Yet her life had been cut short for no reason. She was dead, to be treated like a meaningless casualty, a side effect of duplicit intentions. But she never deserved any of it. And if I can make it right in her death, if that's the best deal that she can get, then I do it.

For her. For my Angie and Charlotte.

I have the full right to be the victim's advocate, to lose some semblance of control simply for that moment in my rage to coerce him in understanding the truth. Lisbon's muted sympathetic and as ever empathizing restraint barbs at my neck and I slightly adhere.

Even as he understands, it does nothing to bring his ill-fated victim back to life. There's a consequence here that no matter how much you understand your sin and regret it, it will never right the wrong. He should take it from someone who knows...

"**Yup, two very tasty numbers."**

I want to slap and punch and whack some sense into him. His obvious yet sly long glances, his slavish self-pity and resulting self-sabotage, I mean, what's he waiting for- Jesus to stand on his face and kick him in the ass to get over there? Sorry pal, he's too busy being non-existent, I guess you'll just have to do with a splash of lime water on your face. Ah, this fool…

Why's he so dumb and blind to see that there's a good woman right in front of him- someone who has seen the worst side of him nevertheless, still loves him for who and even how he is? Does he like to be miserable? He can take it from someone with experience that he should grab as fast as he can and hold on to his happiness hoping like hell that he will be able to keep it for life.

I smile a little watching his back, bittersweet in my emotions…

The ache in my hollow chest intensifies. How I wish Angie were here… Angie, my darling, who knew and _knew_ my worst parts yet loved me as I loved her. How I wish that wishes were horses... and I decide to indulge...

My schizophrenic stationary desert of sweet agony is interrupted by an unwelcome distraction from reality; I'm a little slow and disoriented to completely read her intention. As I tiredly wave back out of politeness or attempt to listen at all, I rub my ring like a talisman, a promise, a strength. After she heads back, I want to feel or pretend that Angie's here with me but I don't have that faith so I can't. I refuse to pity myself into the seventh circle of hell so I repeat my vow of ceaseless revenge.

But this is not a night of violent destruction- it's a night of unending tormenting grief, of gentle lost loves, of oceans in pain, together becoming that heavy lead to weigh me under. So I happily drown.


	6. Chapter 6

**The quote tells from which part of the episode these short insights are written. If you don't have access to the videos, get the transcripts or scripts (for season 1) online.**

**I do not own The Mentalist and make no money from this.**

Season1 Episode 15

"**Tell me how you feel."**

This is _my_ element. _This_ is where I feel dangerously in power, in unconditional control. It's what I do best, then and now. Word is control; it possesses power and the one who manipulates it best, is the Pied Piper; that word his enchanting flute. The only difference is that I used this particular flute to further my own agenda then, but now I strain to wield it to supplement others who have their agendas of law and justice; not to take into account my necessary sharpening of this tool so that I remain focused and active in my hunt…

I jump at any chance offered to me to exercise this drug without it coming to Lisbon's knowledge. As I lightly rotate the .45 caliber silver bullet so that its glint comes off in a hypnotic rhythm, my breathing has become in synchronization with his. Most criminals in violent gangs like this thug, have a 'noble' and caring good mother or a similar view of her that becomes a nub to govern. As I proceed with the 'interrogation' on a more willing subject, I enjoy showing off for the Organized Crime boys from upstairs.

Just when I get to the point of it all, Lisbon enters without preamble. I would never be caught like a deer in headlights, except in this moment. My good luck runs out when she notices the unnaturally pliable thug. I can't help but let out a whitewashed sigh as she catches me red-handed. Lisbon's conservative naïveté is such a huge downer; she never lets me play! Her worn-out tenacity in calling me out on crossing the rules _just_ about rivals my exasperation with her dogged anal clutch of austere adherence _to_ those rules. She escalates the argument on her severe policy to stick to them; unfortunately I find myself involuntarily bending to her authoritarian density but I do it showing my flash of peevishness.

I find some humor fortunately, as I remove this thug's hypnotism right in front of his lawyer… As is foreseeable, Lisbon does not… In other words it's a normal workday.

"**Who's having an affair with Azra Hadami? Victor Marquesa?"**

Hmm, her genuine dismissal by way of utter hilarity is interesting. Maybe there's another tangent in there. Most of these women seem clichéd versions of the 'perfect' upper class housewives but nearly all of them are hiding something under their shallow masks. Housewife number two here is definitely hiding some secret thereby diverting suspicion by placing blame over the husband. This is turning out to be quite interesting.

"**I'll save us all time and tell you who did this, if you like."**

And here is Azra Hadami again. But housewife number three is definitely trying to cover something illegal. She's cold, ruthless and ambitious. Like most women, she carries out her deception by trying to make it come off as a seduction. But that's exactly why it gives her away. I give her an equally illusory reply of falling for it. This is amusement at its best…

"**My purpose died this year at the age of sixteen."**

I catalog the fact that something's missing on Heather and yet her hidden simplicity and sadness draw a strange parallel. When she elaborates, I feel the weight of it. This encumbrance of having gone through the loss of a child changes you, I know this for the miserable fact it is.

It's a vague sense that her sadness hides another secret, an anger maybe, with which I'm too familiar.

I must not let this analog cloud my lucidity.

"**Digger! Why're you calling me now?"**

I chuckle a bit watching her powder her nose in blissful haughtiness. We've got ourselves a tough one to crack. Rigsby's handling her just as tough as he can try to be. Her replies still manage to amuse me on the surface, even more so because Lisbon finds them anything but humorous. But ooh, when she gets her particular brand of nasty out, she's deadlier than a viper. Rigsby has no choice but to give in with what grace is left while he's a bit ahead…

Eliminates more suspects off my list, though.

"**Hi, I'm Patrick."**

I notice the kid playing in one of his many super-hero costumes. He's worried about his dad. When I talk to him, his innocence and immature pain is heartbreaking. He reminds me of Charlotte's age yet his questions were and maybe still are my early stages of grief. I have a little plan and as I conspire with Oscar, trying to get him in on it, I unconsciously let slip one of my secrets to him. If it had been anyone else I would never have admitted that I talk to Angie. If I can help a survivor to find his peace by conning him then so be it... Even if he's just a little kid. Even if all good lies and cons have a core of truth in them.

I tell him this but also realize that he's clever enough to have figured it out, because he's pretty good at his 'make-believe'. Someday, he'll turn out to be an amazing storyteller…or maybe take up something else…

"**Losing your daughter has unhinged you."**

It oddly feels like I'm extracting a confession from my future self.

I am hypnotized.

My daughter, Charlotte.

She loved to play the piano with her mother on most evenings. Her taste was already an eclectic mix of the classics and those cheesy pop songs… she loved hearing my stories… She couldn't get to sleep without me tucking her into bed. She did a million other things and she was the light of my life…

I know it's dangerous to be so in tune with a guilty murderer, yet I find not an ounce of disgust or disdain even any sense of depravity for her act. I hide it extremely well in spite of my clear empathy. But one sentence slips through. I guess that's what makes Lisbon leave the room as soon as the confession finishes. I'm too distracted to note her kindness. I'm burning with just one question hoping for redemption, hoping for peace.

Her answer, is something which I already knew, it is more disappointing then I care to admit yet has the power to pose only more doubt and questions.

I know with certainty this one thing- I won't discern the answer or regret for myself until I actually do it. I feel that odd impatience that the day's not coming fast enough…

"**He likes to play the Lone Ranger…"**

Her levity saves me although I did provoke her onto the banter. And I pay for it when the truth behind her statement hits me, unwittingly revealing my embarrassment for the team to see even if it does serve to boost the morale. Rigsby's 'foxy' date sort of saves me.

Today I carry those doubt and questions into my sleepless night. Maybe...


	7. Chapter 7

**The quote tells from which part of the episode these short insights are written. If you don't have access to the videos, get the transcripts or scripts (for season 1) online.**

**I do not own The Mentalist and make no money from this.**

Season 1 Episode 16

"**What's so good about it?"**

Hmm, I should have known Rigsby's blatant attempt to show that he has a 'love life' with that date would provoke a response from Van Pelt, as it intended to…

But I still observe in humor, Van Pelt interacting with her potential 'love' interest as she feels that contentment in proving her strength of attraction. Poor Rigsby's clear jealousy and his expected jump to conclusions while everyone else is entrenched in the mind-numbing budget audits, starts my day off perfectly.

"**Lisbon!"**

What the hell?

I immediately feel like, getting to the bomb and disarming it, is a personal responsibility thrust upon me by this text. Lisbon's disbelief and distrust in its authenticity, further strengthens my instinct, that the danger is real. Because it's personal, I have this urge to do something more than the standard protocol- bomb threats have never been delivered to my phone simultaneously taunting me to find their location. Lisbon thinks this is my usual conceit talking but the quiet threatening confidence, behind the words in this intimidation, says otherwise.

"**Could be just a hoax like you said."**

In my panic and adrenaline, I expend my frustration and waning patience on Lisbon. When she hedges her belief in the possibility of it being a real threat, I counter her vehemently just to mock her and keep her out of reach.

"**Lisbon! Found it!"**

Raw white fear in his eyes. It is terrifying. I try everything possible but the doors are securely locked. In blind panic, I ask her to shoot out a window and maybe we can get him out of here. My cool pragmatism has checked out long ago but Lisbon is logical in the fiercest of crisis storms. There must be less than ten seconds and we don't have the luxury of time. As I watch his frantic fruitless struggles calming in realization of his inevitable death, I want to stand rooted to the spot and die with him, because this is _another_ person I won't be able to save. I register vaguely that Lisbon is trying to pull my body away and too late, my survival instinct kicks in.

"**We must wait and see, so to speak."**

Oh, this is just great! Fucking _phenomenal_! First, I make the stupid mistake of waiting too long to run away from a bomb which lands me into the land of 'no sight', then as if this isn't enough, anyone that I meet, keeps telling me how fucking '_lucky'_ I am to have _lost my vision_… it's the _most_ preposterous thing! How can anybody stomach the fact that they are unable to see, temporary or otherwise? And as if this isn't enough, the doctor feels the need to inject comicality with casual carelessness when what I feel isn't funny in the least! I don't even _try_ to conceal the sarcasm pouring through my words…

Patience tends to evaporate when blackness is all you see.

What does she think? That I don't appreciate my mortality? Just after escaping a fucking bomb? Her sensibility is laughably silly…

"**We'll find out who did this."**

I know their promise isn't empty. But I can almost sense those coated words. Lisbon is now relieved after knowing my diagnosis, therefore tries to keep me on track and make me feel normal by engaging me in our banter but it won't work- I don't let it… now that I can't see, all these other feelings that I had managed to conceal, to defeat beneath deep thick layers of those tangential visual distractions, are attacking my sanity in this solid inescapable darkness and I have nowhere to go. It's scary to think that someone wants me dead and scared enough, to kill someone innocent, just to warn me of their intentions… My fear of mortality leads me to reconsider this quest I have overtaken…

I hate that I need to put on this false bravado to face these guys. I hate that I don't have the courage to show them how I feel.

I hate that my colleagues feel sorry for me. But I hate it _more_ that I feel sorry for myself…

"**Go ahead, talk to your boyfriend. I don't mind."**

Her curious behavior of slight hesitation over the call on her cellphone when she's at work, gives it away. Someone like Van Pelt who's a stickler for rules and doesn't want her love life to disrupt the growth in her professional career, ignores her potential boyfriend's call, resolving to talk to him in her break. She has good instincts for dating- it's when a long-term relationship comes into factor that her diffidence begins to show itself. I suppose that's why both Rigsby and Van Pelt are distancing themselves to avoid it and what comes with it…

"**Jane, what the hell?"**

What am I supposed to do? Keep on rotting in the hospital and roasting in my own miserable obscurity? I've gotten so sick of just sitting there and doing nothing and going on endlessly in circles! I need to cover my anxiety by having more people around me and letting my senses lose on them so that I have some sort of a distraction or I would go mad! Doesn't she understand?

Some well-placed barbs when honey didn't get me what I want and I'm out of that cold and dreadfully sterile environment the next day… there was no other choice! I refuse to immerse and flounder in my misfortune. Lisbon cannot force me to go back just to follow the stupid 'doctor's orders'!

Besides, if I repeat it enough times maybe I'll start to believe that I really _am_ alright and everything eventually will be, as well.

"**Cool, huh? Did you kill James Medina?"**

I need something to amuse myself with, _now_ more than ever. So what if I'm unable to see? It doesn't make me an invalid or incapable of doing my job even if I _do_ use a cane and wear dark shades! I have my other senses intact and they're enough to help me catch the killer… I just need to start remembering how to apply them once again. In my previous profession, they served as a bonus even when I hadn't exactly been forced to use them- they had just been organically incorporated into my act. I remind myself that this time is no different- I need to use them for my act to show everyone that I'm not affected by this setback and that I can solve cases and get leads even without my eyesight. What better way to prove this, than to interview a suspect?

"**You sensed that with your superpowers?"**

It's really strange that I don't mind Lisbon's congenial poking and sarcastic humor even in this helpless state… I guess, in a way, my skills _can_ be labelled as 'superpowers'. But Lisbon doesn't know how hard I have practiced to perfect my abilities or how effective they are, thus her healthy cynicism which has now become like an indispensable drug for me to be myself…

It is also pretty strange that now when I can't see, all my inhibitions are down and our banter makes me feel as if nothing has changed. I know for a fact, that Lisbon finds great humor in the idea of finding me a superhero costume, I can slightly imagine her with that light in her greens speaking a million different things and a smile threatening to spill over her features. Suddenly I have this urge to memorize her expression and my hand shoots of its own accord over her face, trying to commit it to memory.

She doesn't know it but that levity lends her otherwise staid character a deliciously hidden angle of passion and I find myself fascinated to explore more and wonder what other surprises she has buried inside her…

She doesn't know it but that jingle of her cross, that peculiarly potent mix of earthy cinnamon, fruity warm vanilla and flat coffee, that hard-to-earn trust and reluctant acceptance in her voice which is becoming _not_ so reluctant as time falls; _all_ of it has become something that I need to come home to, every day.

"**A sense of his being?"**

Sounds dramatic et all but in a sense it's sort of true…

Having this little handicap has forced me to recall those many memories of my past. I suppose I have slipped back into that role of being a fake 'psychic'. It was bound to affect my line of thought so I struggle to control and discrete my conscious from the conscience.

It feels out of sorts when Lisbon is the one with stern optimism and I behave with juvenile nihilism but then everything has been, since i've lost my eye-sight…

As I feel the engraved metal bull under the Rolex, it firmly places me back in what used to be my office at home. This is dangerous because my old memories threaten to destroy what fragile sham of stability I've managed to garner after everything, if they're allowed to fester. It takes me back to my deep shameful regret, that punitive self-loathing and paralysis of grief. So I scramble to pick up the shards and reconstruct that mirror which reflects me to others…

"**Well, that would be a strong romantic statement."**

I don't really know why I'm pushing Rigsby on so crudely.

Maybe I'm living vicariously through their push-and-pull relationship.

Maybe I want to see some hope for happiness and love- a fairly welcome distraction from all the contiguous violence around us every day.

Maybe these guys have enough of my dependence and veneration to merit some sort of wish for their well-being.

Maybe I'm being an extra shade of cruel in my pursuit of amusement because this period of time has been quite unkind to me and I want to dole out that spitefulness. Or maybe I'm just plain meddlesome and a 'nosy' parker who has nothing better to do…

"**You're attracted to him, but you're deeply repressed and emotionally shut down."**

At first, her extremely stringent control over herself made me curious enough then I wanted to dig deeper over the reasons for it. I don't really let myself read my colleagues beyond a certain point on their surface because it might complicate things but as I decide to indulge in the temptation to read those signs better, I arrive at her horrible secrets- those realities that she desperately wants to disregard because of the abysmal shame and self-loathing she associates with them, however illogical she is in her self-denunciation.

In that moment, for me she has turned from 'Van Pelt' to 'Grace'…

I feel like I have touched something tangible, something ugly, raw and writhing inside her that is eerily similar to a part of what I have inside me. And so I give her the angry ignorance she feigns, the hasty mortified shutter she throws, the much-needed smokescreen of deceit and lies she has to put up. Because in the end, I'm as unwelcome in her grotesque as she is in mine. She might have become 'Grace' for me but I am nowhere near even a 'Jane' for her. I don't take it as a slur, surprisingly… because she has given away a piece of herself unwillingly, unwittingly and I have taken it yet I don't intend to give her less than a scrap of mine.

"**In fact, if he does die for whatever reason, move him to a public area, would you?"**

Ha ha, humor…at _my_ expense. I didn't think Minelli was capable of having any sense of it really, but I suppose I bring out the unforeseen… At least he has the decency of not sending me back to that awful white prison even if it _is_ out of pity. Though if I cross any more lines, he might just do it out of spite. I hate having others know my weak spot. Now I _owe_ him… Could it get any worse than this?

"**Hello, Dan. Great to meet you."**

I rescind my earlier thought. Of course it can and must get worse than it already is. When have I claimed to have any luck on my side? I don't even believe in it. Rigsby's absence is alarming as soon as Dan, here, takes my hand in a death grip and the faint impressions of fresh bruising and torn skin on his knuckles threaten me. His bottled-up antagonism and resentment towards me is physically palpable. All the puzzle-pieces come to fit together and I try to trick him but I know I'm dead meat. The tension escalates as I parry and he thrusts. I try to find my exit as innocently as possible but Grace, she inadvertently blocks it. I wish in dismay that she was sharper and not quite so naively trusting… but that's 'Dan's opening to attack.

"**Gullible women."**

She can hardly blame me when she has put us in this position! Compared to what I actually thought, this is pretty mild… I'm blind as a bat, everyone else is either absent or incapacitated and the one agent with me has _no_ weapon to her defense and a gun trained on her. This is a situation which I had _no_ part in conception. I just hope Lisbon caught the weird undercurrent in Grace's voice to realize something's wrong and is coming back as fast as she can. I've underestimated her many times before so now I hope and place faith in her. Until then- plan B it is.

"**You have no notion how good it is to see your face, Rigsby."**

As I squeeze my eyes in fear that my sight could be lost forever I know I have to finally take the chance to open them or I'll keep on procrastinating.

Her blurred shadowy form comes into focus in the morning light and I am home.

I have this wild _intense_ urge to pull at her braids, slip back into our old teasing banter and drink in her smile because _at last_, I can see the emerald glow light itself as she catches my mischief and can't help but laugh in abandon, with furtive delight of my tongue-in-cheekiness. Of all else, this shade of taken-for-granted green, is what I missed seeing the most. In my euphoria, I bask in this green sunshine and overlook all logic of self-inducing fear.

Because it's simple- I am alive and dare I say, maybe a bit _content_…


	8. Chapter 8

**Sincerest of my gratitude to ****LouiseKurylo**** for leaving those lovely kind reviews to every chapter. They motivate me even more to write this piece… Thank you!**

**As this amazing series is ending, our stories won't stop, they'll keep getting bigger and better! Cheers to The Mentalist fandom! **

**This is also a favourite episode of mine- Enjoy!**

**The quote tells from which part of the episode these short insights are written. If you don't have access to the videos, get the transcripts or scripts (for season 1) online.**

**I do not own The Mentalist and make no money from this.**

Season 1 Episode 17

"**The Mojave Desert. Middle of nowhere, a quarter mile off the highway."**

Losing my eyesight for that short while, has earned me a valuable lesson.

In my blind race to attain unnecessary reputation and affluence, clad in the finest illusive cloak that money could buy, I had forgotten, _that_, which is of real worth to the soul.

There was a time when I used to find solace from my father's abuse and avarice, in that ordinary yet ethereal beauty of my every day and travels. Shedding my carny past after Angie and I ran away, I associated my love for the rustic with my father and thus worked to erase it. But now, stripped of the crippling vanity, I understand -the high of that petty success achieved in defiance of my father, made me arrogant. I became pathetically addicted to the comforts of those polished lines, the prejudices of my fabrications.

I want to rediscover this forgotten taste for the idyllic. I want to reclaim that fascination of my oldest teacher. I want to see as much of nature's splendor, capture it, until I won't be able to. That green will become, once again, my font of strength, constancy and succour. Therefore I grab any excuse to go out and about even if it's a crime scene.

"**I'm happy for you."**

Lisbon's grouchiness and patent disinclination to place belief on the warning is laughable. Maybe that's why I insisted on us getting here and enjoy the scenery… She's such a workaholic that it's unhealthy. She thinks we're wasting our time and wants to get on with the rest of her cases but I think the taunt might have a possibility. Anyway, it's far more fascinating to roam in the outside air. I breathe in hungrily and try to engage Lisbon to appreciate the human imagination but she's way too stubborn in her mistrust. Cho's such a spoilsport to catch and throw away my suggestion.

The comet of that predicted body shatters any doubt. Ah, well, at least we saved three hours on travel and have sandwiches to pass the time until Forensics get here…

"**This is a murder investigation. You can't leave until we say you can leave."**

I'm a little surprised to note that Lisbon isn't feeling indignation but amusement at Faulk's assumption of being the superior authority just because he has money or influence. But she is calm and subversive in pointing out the reality of the situation to the narcissistic bastard here. Apart from being drunken in his own power, he seems clever enough to get what he wants even if he has to pretend withdrawal to his target of conquer. There's also the physical relationship between him and the ambitious and condescending woman at his back…

I'm distracted by the pleasing weather and the taste of some good old ham and cheese sandwiches…

"**David wouldn't want you to acknowledge his tragic and untimely death?"**

God, what a bunch of self-centered brainwashed ants! They don't _want_ to open their 'blackberry' blinders to actually _see_ anything beyond it! The I.T. guy is realistic enough to accept the threat, as is the P.R. woman. The ex-military man wants to soldier on as a reflex to the death but the woman who's having an affair with this Faulk guy is taking it as a threat. Speaking of Faulk, even if he's a chronic narcissist, he seems genuine in his belief that it's heroic to continue with their stupid 'retreat' or whatever and he uses his position at the apex as a tool to influence others into adhering to his plans. There's something amiss with the contradiction in his nature and words…

"**Jane-like the girl."**

"**Jane." **

"**Mr****. Jane."**

Hah, if he thinks he can lob down his so-called supercilious 'superiority' on me, then he's got another thing coming… I don't put up with bullying. From _anyone_. I see he is amused by my claim for equal status but he doesn't know to be more cautious with me. As he gives his little speech I put on my mask of being the attentive ear but all of it is bullshit- he's simply quoting verbatim from the 'official corporate handbook to brainwash people'.

"**Do you want group therapy?"**

Tut tut, being defensive and snappy won't buy her my silence… it's pretty obvious from their expressions that we, especially me and my statements, are inviting skepticism regarding our ability to solve this case. No matter- They don't know that I've endured such doubt endlessly which has never before, stopped me from getting at the truth.

"**I have security concerns like anyone else. I don't think I'm bulletproof."**

Interesting, that his first thought to interpret any statement is to associate it with his company… he seems pretty obsessed with his work and the company's public 'image' but when I elaborate my meaning he is honest to what I have summed him up to be like- he is vain, ruthless, power-hungry and doesn't mind getting his hands dirty to get what he wants. But I'm not in the mood to play with him as he's too amenable…

"**Easy to fool yourself that the people you love are honest."**

The bags under her inflamed eyes, the sick pallor of her skin, the way her clothes hang around her frame, the absence of scalp lines in her hair- I should've known earlier without her needing to expose her weakness in defiance to my callousness. I couldn't help myself and my persistent prodding because I thought she was hiding some sort of truth… but I know how much it must have cost her to remove her wig… I'm ashamed like never before, that I forced her to waive her dignity…

**"Ego and pride and vanity I expect."**

His words could easily replace mine.

When I was in the business of being a fake 'psychic', Angie, Charlotte and I owned the best of everything. I had enough to take care of all of their needs. If I hadn't showed off so superfluously or been covetous of the more materialistic, I would still have my family with me. So why did I have to screw it all up by boasting my abilities and reading a serial-killer? Why couldn't I have _just_ left the investigation in hands of the police? Why couldn't I have just kept from bloating my head?

I wish I could say that I don't know. But I do. I _do_ know.

His bitter, cutting scoff is my hidden echo of regret.

"**I know, I know. I can read your mind."**

Humor from Lisbon could never get old…

Of course, she thinks that I like to convolute simple stuff and thus takes my confidence with a grain of salt. I wouldn't have it any other way. But there's a change, so subtle, I might have missed it if I hadn't been paying attention right now. She easily acquiesces because she remembers all the times that I _have_ been right so my absurd deductions have a possibility of being true or maybe she knows I can be trusted whether I tell her of my plan or not…

She should know better by now that when I need to control the wheel and gears, I do it regardless anyone permits me or not…Her sense of duty won't let me go by myself, though, because she knows my methods of provocation quite well.

Her exasperation is my best amusement. I am beginning to like this particular game…

"**Are you sure this is how you wish to proceed? With clownish games?"**

Oh, this is quite trivial compared to what I can come up with, he has no idea of the damage I could do! I'm a bit curious and taken aback that Lisbon exudes calm and handles Faulk cleverly without dismissing me or my statements… This is the first time she has taken my back showing a hint of humor but no averseness or diffidence.

Sort of moves me… Helps me do my job easier. Maybe even makes me trust her more.

"**You threw a cat alright."**

I admit the truth to her instead of spinning tales to buy time to hide my empty hand. She doesn't show contempt for my plan but tries to steer me to simplicity but I'm not disappointed by the lack of knowledge. Maybe there's more to come and more to see…

"**Like you don't know you have major trust issues."**

When she hits a rare bulls-eye like that, my guard comes crashing down. Because I'm _truly_ affected! Couple of years, and she _already_ has a good measure of me? Impossible! Is it my fault? Have I let her see who I actually am? If she knows so much, does she guess everything else that I try to hide? I'm dying to know how much she _has_ guessed at but if I encourage her conjecture then she might never revoke it… I can't let her have that fragment of me, be it now or ever. And so I con her. But when I do, I get at another detail that further smashes my guard. Does she _actually_ believe what she said? Do I really not have her trust? After everything that she has done?

No. I don't.

I'm floored.

Throws me completely off-balance. The fool that I was, I had the impression that she had begun to trust me when in actuality, she had simply decided to take in her stride, my annoying methods and accept the useful part of my perspective in her pursuit of justice.

I have absolutely no idea why it bothers me so much. I just _know_ I have to learn how to make her trust me. _Very_ few people have that gift and somehow, I find my _need_ for it acute. I have a fluttery anxious feeling in my stomach as I purposefully banish my wall to see hers. Now, I don't care if it's a con or not, if I need her trust for my quest or something else. I am single-minded in my approach- I need her to trust me.

And I always find a way to get what I want.

"**I let you drive me around the country in this contraption. That's serious trust right there."**

A trust-fall! Simplicity works best, even at the risk of its stupidity.

Her incredulity at my sudden candor, lets her forget to be wary. Now, what I say will get through to her, sit and fester to such a volume that she won't have any choice _but_ to believe it. Or maybe, she already _does_ believe it but isn't aware of it or how it has come to happen…

If it was someone else _but_ Lisbon, I would have been tempted to let them fall for a laugh as soon as I saw their back leaning toward me.

But in this moment, I give myself up. I decide to do more than honour my debt. I consciously become responsible for her. I know even after years of recalling this moment, I would never regret it- even at the price of my life.

When Lisbon jokes and tries to lighten the atmosphere, heavy with my promise, I think maybe my painfully delicate conviction has moved her; she understands what really happened here. Naturally she's trying to hide it by being gruff.

Too late, I realize that I've left a huge gaping hole in her wall as she has, in mine. I don't even know when it got there…

"**See if anybody made a killing so to speak."**

Ah ha! See? Grace is coming around! This is the same person who was reprimanding me for being excited because of the prospect of a case and admonishing me to respect the death of a victim… _now_ she can freely joke about it because she's feeling excited to hunt down a lead and determine a suspect! I chuckle along with her and at her even if no one else will. We have to find some little humor in whatever we can find it in -otherwise everything would be murky and cynical so how _else_ could we keep our sanity?

"**You can't blame yourself."**

Why not? He is, after all, the one who did it. Self-preservation can be a bitch. I find it hard to believe that when the first death occurred, he was pulling a totally bullshit 'strength of courage' act but now that Nadia Sobell is dead, he's packing his bags to get outta here faster than a sneeze; pretending to have been chastened into seeing the reality but in fact, planning to recreate his company's public 'image' because as he is spinning that 'rebranded' crap, he's telling the truth. He did want to turn over the tide - just at the cost of two innocent lives, not taking into account those thousands that he had already left unemployed… His main aim has been conquered so he can return to restore his idiotic worthless company. He thought he could get away with it but my gag is yet to oust him…

"**You're under arrest. Let's go."**

Her subtle look of 'good work' makes me feel even _more_ content. Why _thank you_, Lisbon! So _like_ her to acknowledge my brilliant improvisation. This is the first time that she has shown faith in me without her patented eye-rolls and scoffs… Feels sort of nice. I decide not to read into it any more than this, though. For it is dangerous...

"**Everybody loves a come-back. Everybody loves redemption."**

But I don't mention that they like the _idea_ of it more than what it actually is… They like it in books or movies and other fiction. People can't stomach it in reality… Some scumbags, like him use it to fuel their own warped sense of insatiability. Sobell and Whitaker are dead but other innocents needn't suffer. They must get their due.

Lee Skelling has repented and tortured himself enough. Maybe I see myself in him and I want to present to him some solace after the wrong done on him. Maybe his wife reminds me of mine. Maybe his ego, pride and vanity needn't burn them all up in flames. Maybe I want to believe there's hope. Maybe I want to give them what I never hope to get nor do I intend on allowing myself to get.

Peace and a second shot at Happiness…


	9. Chapter 9

**My gratitude to LouiseKurylo for sharing her honest views about the chapters.**

**The quote tells from which part of the episode these short insights are written. If you don't have access to the videos, get the transcripts or scripts (for season 1) online.**

**I do not own The Mentalist and make no money from this.**

"**Hang on. An affair? You just made that up."**

I grin. Some would note that I get easily provoked into reasoning out my statements by Lisbon's disbelief cropping up with clockwork precision. I think I know _why_ she's so skeptical of my conclusions all the time. She has been privy to my methods of suggestion for some little time. The eternal pessimist that she is, when I explain the reasons for my spot-on comments, they're usually paper thin as far as she's concerned. But what she doesn't understand is that they only appear to be 'thin' from the 'normal' perspective… I find my reasons perfectly sane and logical because I've trained myself to see that which everyone wants to be hidden. It's always funny that the more people want to hide something, the easier it becomes to see their secrets. And this is why I never fail to win at this game.

"**Jane!"**

I itch to comment that this is not just some farcical act of bravery to prevent them shooting an innocent man. His eyes are red and the pupils are dilated. Steady breathing even after heaving a hundred and thirty pound body across three blocks. When I wave my hand infront of his eyes, they become transfixed rather than try to trace the movement. This is something beyond normal cop procedure because I doubt Lisbon knows anything much about the conditions of a man that has been hypnotized…

"**Hypnosis is what you use - against my explicit orders - to get witnesses to tell the truth."**

Rigsby sees everything in black and white which fuels his 'daddy' issues and therefore treats anything new or unknown as this, likewise.

Lisbon sees hypnosis as an illegal method to get to the truth but can't imagine its uses further than that.

Cho is a _little_ accepting to entertain the notion that it exists but only so long as he gets to use it to wheedle out the facts while questioning Carl.

VanPelt is undecided but given more proof, she may be forced to accept that it's real.

It comes upon me to illuminate the finer points of how hypnotism works.

I don't really blame them for their reactions of doubt. It isn't every day that you see such a powerful hypnotic suggestion which is why I will get to exercise my drug without being made to feel guilty. Makes me feel liberated.

"**One of the pre-eminent hypnotherapists in the country."**

I say that but Lisbon can hear the sarcasm in my voice. I couldn't help but let it flow as vague dim words come back from my forgotten childhood.

Immigrants from the British carnie circuit, Royston senior made quite a name for himself pulling off scams on rich people… Unfortunately, he at that time, had also made quite an impression on my young mind. Royston junior had preferred to 'educate' himself and yet would sometimes be coerced to accompany his dear dad in one of his swindling acts. And now, here he is, decades later, a 'doctor' disguising a manipulative scam to rip people off as some fancy 'science' applicable by and to anyone. Clearly, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, except there's no discrimination based on money here. Doesn't care who he rips off, just wants them to be gullible.

He's simply _begging_ to be looked at.

"**Good afternoon. My name is Dr. Royston Daniel."**

Hah, that is most definitely _not_ Daniel Royston! I see how he's pitching this 'neuro-linguistic' bullshit- it's very like any act of con; you pitch your 'innovative' unbelievable idea, let the people feel intrigue, then as they slowly take the bait, you seal it with a punchline and they're hooked.

Makes me feel excited. This is a man clever enough to put Carl under a strong trance after committing murder. It's best to observe such an accomplished hypnotist in his element. That's how you learn his strengths and guess at his weaknesses.

Finally, someone that I can truly relish to deconstruct.

"**Hmm, well. Nope. Rigs, why don't you and Carl go to the seminar while we speak with Dr. Daniel?"**

Ah, disappointment can leave such a bitter after-taste… Perhaps I need Lisbon's tough cop routine to guide me after all, that has illuminated aspects unknowingly so many times in the past. It might help to see what I'm missing now.

When Lisbon tells Rigsby to go with me, I smile inward… she likes to _think_ she's in control and sometimes I need to let her roll one over me so that I don't hurt her.

Anyway, I need to enter the interview somewhere in the middle of it so that Royston loses his footing making it easier for me to read him- so a little stroll around the place won't go amiss… Also, if I went with Rigs right now, Royston would be on the defensive from the beginning and wouldn't be willing to answer honestly.

This is a crafty bastard who knows all the ropes to the gig. Best to employ any bit of counter-measure that I can.

"**Or make people like and respect them. Nothing wrong with that, right?"**

Oh ho! He's very good! Very _very_ good! Knows when to withdraw and when to deliver a vicious blow without losing tact. All his clients are people in high places and he has them wrapped around his finger… and he dares to boast about them to me! At least he doesn't know or recognise me, but then me or my old man didn't really make the rumours like him and his dad... I get distracted by Lindsay's arrival.

When Lindsay converses with Royston, both of them emanate something powerful that they're trying to hide by way of tightly controlled body-language which is distracting. Charm, charisma and scams go hand in hand but he used it to blow her off like she didn't even matter and then smooth it over so he would look remorseful…

I should warn him but I don't. Lisbon's favorite phrase of making one's bed so they can lie in it, is rather appropriate here.

"**Pot? Meet kettle. Kettle? Pot."**

That's amusing. 'Suggestion everywhere'… She's accusing _me_ of being suggestible? When she's pretty suggestible herself? Or does she know me better than I do? No _way_. Didn't she see the way Teigler let himself get steam-rolled as Cho took control and used his words against him? Normally there can be no better interrogator than Cho but here, he couldn't handle Teigler that well… the black-out story is something that doesn't fit in with someone who murders. Teigler also lacks confidence in himself and thinks everyone's out to get him thus his defensiveness and drinking problem.

Lisbon's further insight that I'm too much of a 'control freak' and Rigsby throwing the label back at her, distracts me from forming more arguments. Hmmm, I never noticed but he's right. She tries to control the one-upmanship we play between us. She _does_ like to control everything outside her because inside, she's pretty chaotic and tempestuous. She never lets the hurricane show, though; controls it with a cool, calm demeanor. And that's where we are different. I control mine, by showing everyone their reflections, by false smiles and averting provocations. It's all I need. It's also why our paths will always be parallel.

"**All these people here have to die. That's not control. That's madness."**

At least the trap worked. So Royston wasn't the murderer… doesn't really matter now. But she's pretty formidable so I try to sound off as much confidence as I can muster. I hate these quiet sneaks the most. They're the hardest to read or predict. My mistake must not cost us our lives. So I do what I am best at- I improvise.

"**Oh lord, did I make a fool of myself?"**

VanPelt doesn't know to be disappointed or relieved… I'm truly glad that none of us are dead… Otherwise how could I enjoy Rigsby's mortified cowardice, our shared humour at his expense and VanPelt's angry embarrassment? I'm not even disgruntled for my failure to shut down Royston's scam...

Is this the feeling of being content?


	10. Chapter 10

**The quote tells from which part of the episode these short insights are written. If you don't have access to the videos, get the transcripts or scripts (for season 1) online.**

**I do not own The Mentalist and make no money from this.**

**Everyone's reviews and discussions are much appreciated, thanks for reading! :)  
**

Season 1 Episode 19

"**Correct, but not quite fair."**

And here I thought Lisbon hated politics…

But then she isn't really the type of person who would discriminate based on something as petty as what money someone makes… most cops are pretty tough on the 'wealthy' just because they automatically think money makes rich guys act like they own people, quite true most of the times. But Lisbon doesn't really stereotype thus shattering her own stereotype. She's inherent in her impartial judgment and inspires others to adapt to a similar view. Helps to stomach my bitter cynical perspective where the rich are concerned.

"**You'll never take me alive copper."**

I used to think what with Cho and Lisbon having been together in the San Francisco PD before coming here, Cho mimicked Lisbon's tough cop, by-the-rules strict routine because she had more experience and seniority over him. But that might not be true. He is way too smart to be influenced by someone unless he believes in them. Cho's got a very concrete idea of right and wrong and he likes to fit new things into categories only if he's convinced about what they actually are. He respects Lisbon's authority even admires it, but he's afraid to let go of rules and procedure because of his past; he sticks to his own principles and his past lends him a willingness to bend the rules if the cause is just. He's not like Lisbon about infringing the linear laws, he's pretty unscrupulous as long as the criminals are punished.

He's unnecessarily, relentlessly hard on me; has been right from the beginning. Considers me to be a loose cannon but he's quick to see that where rules don't get you the perpetrator, bending them actually works. I doubt to ever gain his complete trust but I'm realizing that when the time comes to exact my revenge, Cho will be my greatest asset.

"**\- and we're all supposed to be surprised when it gets caught in the elevator?"**

First the Felicia Scott movies, now this… seeing Lisbon in a new light is unnerving. Watching her chuckle and smile while explaining a beer commercial makes me squirm. She likes to control so tightly that she refuses to divulge into personal details willingly. But I don't need her to. Everything she says becomes a piece of her puzzle and every time I think I know her, she throws my pre-concieved notions away. Makes me want to keep digging. But should I?

"**It's mine."**

As I glance back at Sydney from the photo, she's pleading me not to say anything in front of her stepmother. Suddenly I'm reminded of Charlotte. Not because they bear any resemblance in their physicality but Charlotte would often make a similar expression when I discovered her innocent secret on occasion. I reel the shock in and give Sydney what she wants. She deserves it. But I must remember that she's not my Charlotte.

"**Why do women love bad boys so much?"**

Ah, don't give me that deadpan, Lisbon! Who was the one with that high-school crush on the popular guy who always got in trouble with teachers? Good girls generally have the need to 'fix' boys they find to be 'bad' and _which_ girl doesn't have issues with her father? It might be different in Lisbon's case though. I stop myself from continuing the thought.

"**That's okay. There's always leeway with juvenile cases."**

What would the world be without these people? I should have known when she called her stepdaughter a drama queen. But she's such a good actress that I couldn't clock her performance earlier. Charismatic, beautiful, tragic. But she can't quite hide her melodramatic streak. As soon as someone lies to me and I discover it, they leap into suspicion. My instincts have become very cop-like; this can only be good in my quest for vengeance. But should I be scared that Lisbon and the team have influenced me so much?

"**It's the gun that Sydney stole from you."**

Oh, that dramatic beat before she displays her disappointment… How is it invisible to Lisbon? She only strengthens her performance when things go according to her plan. But I know what will make her loose that confidence. It doesn't really need much but at the same time, there's a kind of strong word-building that can topple her over and reveal what she is. The actor that she is, nothing but the truth will reveal in her performance.

"**I think I know what happened here, Sydney. I wonder if you know also."**

I shouldn't let my pity show. She's not Charlotte. But I can't be as harsh as usual to deconstruct her. I don't want to know why. But I do see that she's telling the truth. So maybe I can let her in on how to catch the woman who murdered her father. At least I can give her this satisfaction of it if nothing else. I would want that for Charlotte.

"**I'm thinking Felicia and Sydney should go back to work."**

Instead of me telling her that we've got the wrong suspect and I have the perfect plan to catch who did it, Lisbon has already guessed it. I can't help but burst into a smile watching her amusement. Maybe I'm not the only one who's getting influenced.

"**Too melodramatic. Your whole world is about to fall apart."**

Wow, she's really into it, huh… but then, that's how I planned it to be. Because of her urge to 'act' and perform around the lights and cameras, she's digging herself into the trap even deeper. Her strength becomes her weakness when it's exploited correctly.

When I lost my family, I lost my strength and weakness, too.

This is why everything needs to be used emotionlessly, not to be negotiated as a strengthening chip.

This is why my revenge will succeed. I know how to use anything and anyone to the best of their ability. And I never delude myself into caring for anyone else _ever_ again…

"**Men are beasts."**

If only I could've respected Angie's needs, her pleas and her sense of right, instead of being an arrogant fool, it would never have happened… Felicia has come to know a thing or two about regret.

I'm glad.

To commit a wrong and then feel remorse is the hardest to walk of all paths. Who knows this better than me?

In all the heady sense of the ignorant wrong that you do, it's forgotten that there's a duty to be done, a responsibility to fulfill, a love to be felt, a commitment to choose what's right.

If you live to see the world after surviving regret's thorny path, you come to see yourself for what you have become. Takes a lot of courage to face yourself, to accept your sin.

It takes even more to find any hope of moving on.

"**Because happiness is ****so**** hard to find. Once you find it, you better hang on tight. Or you might lose it."**

Yes. Blissful ignorance when you've found that happiness, is pretty easy to swallow. Complacency has this horrible tendency to take root, when you have everything you could ever dream of, right there with you. And then you lose that everything. You have no one else to blame but _yourself_.

What do you do after happiness has somehow slipped away from you?

How do you live after that?

How else if not immersed in shameful guilt, boiling with angry venomous hatred, eaten with the greedy hunger of vengeance with a talisman of dead memories at heart...?


	11. Chapter 11

**The quote tells from which part of the episode these short insights are written. If you don't have access to the videos, get the transcripts or scripts (for season 1) online.**

**I do not own The Mentalist and make no money from this.**

Special thanks to the guests who review this series as I can't thank them personally.

One of my favourite Jisbon episodes!

Season 1 Episode 20

"**Oh, wait, Jane's gonna guess!"**

VanPelt, Rigsby and now Lisbon. As usual, it started out as a bet with Rigsby on VanPelt's birthday and it has already become a ritual of sorts, an 'initiation' to the team…

This 'Try-to-stump-the-Mentalist' game.

Birthdays don't need to be reminders of past tragedies and how fleeting life is. Especially birthdays of people who face a new tragedy every day. The better, that I get to hide behind these gambles, to hide my crippling memories of chasing Charlotte on the beach, guiding my blind-folded Angela along the sandy gravel to our future home, feeling that iron tall pride over Charlotte completing her treasure hunt each birthday, reveling in Angela's blissfully satisfied expression as she surveyed our daughter's face glowing like a reflection of her own…

I don't know what to do with them. So I need this diversion of petty gambles.

Rather unknowingly, Lisbon's expression glowing in the candle light, files itself away.

I don't know what to do with this either. So I close my eyes and let the game begin.

"**Boss, we got a call."**

That was close. Three more seconds and I would have had that slice of cake on my face…

She's way too easy to tease. Normally she can keep her composure even when someone's insulting her but she turns into a high school student when I provoke our banter. It bugs me a little that she doesn't trust my word, doesn't trust that I would deliver on what was promised. I curse the stupid slow service, trying to erase that memory of her face falling ever so slightly when I diverted to cake. It's typical of her to cover it up and laugh or scoff, to feel grateful of the life she has and not expect more. It's not like her to feel disappointed and take what I tried to pass off as a joke, seriously.

But she does; no matter how much she tries to deny it; no matter how much I try to deny the elation I get seeing her hope in someone like me.

And for that I would buy her all the ponies that she wanted.

"**I hate questioning teenagers. It's like talking to mud."**

Of course, because that's how Rigsby sees his own teenage self as. But teenagers can be far easier to control than adults. Use some fancy words that sound big and important and see them get intimidated. Easy peazy… Clearly, people haven't changed much since my teenage years… That's what makes them so easy to manipulate.

"**Consultant. She's the agent, I'm the consultant."**

He's twirling his keys as if life's normal and a person under his protection hasn't just been found shot dead in a ditch one town over! As if he hasn't just left the wife of this dead person, a mess in her living room, moments before. And here he is, defending himself over the finer points of how to protect a turned witness? I _try_ not to let him get on my nerves.

The way he and his partner are handling it, makes me grit my teeth. This isn't how officers of the law are supposed to behave. They need to put aside their bruised egos and find out the murderer. If they won't- who will? Where do they get the nerve to criticize 'vigilante justice' then? I know my responsibility to the dead; to use any means possible to complete my job. Because, this wife of the dead man, an angry, defensive, scared mess unable to trust anyone, back in the living room; she needs it.

"**Shoot him."**

Lisbon had already warned me. There's no one to blame but myself.

I can't die yet! Lisbon hasn't even seen her present! So I calm down and do what I do best. Besides there's a certain kind of thrill in getting to mess with a mob boss…

Lisbon would call me crazy but then she would say that I made my bed so I've gotta lie in it. I power through the nerves.

"**You played golf with Sonny Battaglia?"**

"**Yeah. Sonny… well, I did."**

Embellishing it with a bit of an airy attitude is necessary. Don't want them to know I was scared shitless with a gun pointed in my face when I approached him. Beginnings aren't important anyway. What's important is that I got him to trust me enough to give his private number. I got one over on the sadistic creep just like the other time and I got the perfect gaffe for my trick to catch the murderer. Twos always make me feel good.

"**That lowlife crook in bed with your Christy? Don't go telling us you don't have a secret crush on her..."**

And that's for barging in here, ruining my sleep and threatening Lisbon. Easy to provoke such a short-tempered man. All that anger is telling me that at least I'm right about his illicit one-sided love for his partner and why not? After all they've worked together for so many years… it's natural.

Next time he should be careful to keep his temper in check and rather than being defensive and stupid, he should do his job better. Would save more innocent lives...

"**Rigsby's right, you know. The boss told _us_ to go see Gina Russo. She told _you_ to stay out of trouble."**

What a couple of worrywarts! I give Lisbon enough trouble as it is. It's better to let her do her stuff while I spring the murderer here. I make her job easier like this.

Grace and Rigsby are wary of Lisbon's wrath. They fear it not for the sake of it, but for her sense of morality in it. A sense they abide by and I lack. But where their hands are tied, I can employ this very shortcoming unashamedly. And so they comply, not, it dawns upon me, because they realize this but because they consider me a part of their team. They'll never know how much that means to someone like me when I've felt nothing like it before; they'll never know how much I rely on them to do the things I do. Because if I express it, they'll know my weakness. They'll know I care.

"**Romantic? With the 'Marshal' lady? No. Never happen. No. You kidding me?"**

Gotcha! That beat she takes is a dead give-away. I'm slightly disgusted. It shouldn't be surprising. I believed that performance she gave when they told her of her husband's death. I'm never gullible. Ever. This is why she deserves the utter fear of what a mafia boss is going to make her live through in his revenge. I feel tempted to twist Battaglia into taking her to hell but I resist. I need to have faith in the law, in Lisbon. And if I can appease her by doing the right thing for these criminals, then she might turn the necessary blind eye when I kill my Red Whale.

"**Yeah. Speaking of which - what were you thinking? Unbelievable."**

If Lisbon paid attention, she would have noticed I hugged the Marshal in order to hide my excitement. Pizza's on its way, everything's squared and the long awaited present which was seriously hard to place in her office without her knowledge, won't sit still for long…

I'm a tiny bit nervous over her reaction- she'll be happy, won't she?

Right until the moment that she actually sees the pony, she still thinks I'm pulling her leg. But all of it's worth it- worth that expression of the purest joy, the utter surprise and something else, indescribable. Joy that I care about her, surprise that I kept my promise, all of it smashing inhibitions and letting me see her blinding light shine through. I thought I knew how she smiled but this was a smile I had never been graced with. I thought I knew all of her expressions but the warmth that seemed to melt my bones was something I had never seen.

Now I can't convince myself that I bought her this pony as a bribe. Can't make myself believe that it's a joke. Can't deny that it feels good. Can't even be honest with myself.

If I was, I would know. I could accept.

I wanted to make Lisbon happy.

I wished to satisfy her yearnings as money or power couldn't do it.

I had begun to care.

And just _once_ more, I was desperate to see that expression of blissful satisfaction, the joy and surprise which was my elixir, so many ages ago…


	12. Chapter 12

**The quote tells from which part of the episode these short insights are written. If you don't have access to the videos, get the transcripts or scripts (for season 1) online.**

**I do not own The Mentalist and make no money from this.**

I can't express how good it feels reading reviews from guests and members. Thanks for taking the time to read!

Mentalistas forever!

Season 1 Episode 21

"**You take a boat out and go missing, everyone will assume you're at the bottom of the ocean. Your body and your killer are never found."**

"Jane, you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"If I had a penny for each time you were right, Lisbon…"

"Stop being so sarcastic Jane! After you."

"That should have been my line!"

Lisbon is too focused on the trail of clues to think up a retort.

"And voila! Would you like fish for dinner or dinner for fish?"

"Hmmm, dinner for fish." She gives a reluctant smirk watching them mulling around the taut chain of the anchor. This is very real even if it's my imagination; even if it hasn't been said out loud.

"This one? No… uh, that?" She's pointing out most buttons as if trying to pick out food from a restaurant menu. Food that we're both going to share. So it's my duty to help her out.

Lisbon finds the solution we're both looking for. Of course, I'm a perfect gentleman and I allow her to take it as if I'm pulling out a chair for her to sit on our date. To impress her.

But I don't let it show that I'm the one who's impressed. That I feel something when I realize that, for two people who're hard-wired completely different, we have arrived at a point where we become absolutely in sync with each other in the pursuit of justice.

Has so much of time already passed that I am at ease in this state of being? Have I already forgotten that Angela should be the only one who was ever on the same page as me?

Dangerous waters pose threat for a reason.

I force myself, remind myself that Angela paid dearly, _more_ than what was fair for _being_ with me at all. I must not let anyone else come even close to that. I won't survive the aftermath of that destruction the second time around.

"**Really? You're a psychiatrist and you can't imagine that?"**

I welcome the distraction in form of Ms. Brooke Harper, quite readily. She's charming, beautiful and poised. But she's a psychiatrist. I have a tic to get under their skins. I like to think it's nothing personal, just my personal opinions and experience with psychiatrists…

But this one seems warm and sincere, upset about her boyfriend's death. Maybe…

"**Oseltamilvir phosphate."**

Ah ha! Finally a mistake! Finally an opening. That's why her tightly controlled elegant body language confused me. I haven't met someone this good since Kristina Frye.

When Lisbon accuses me of liking her, I feel a twinge of unease. But no one has supernatural powers… She can't _possibly_ know what my real feelings are just because she reads my mind on a case just _once_! I pretend to accept her accusation to throw her off. Nobody can know.

All the same, I don't want it to turn out like another 'Kristina Frye' or 'Mrs. Sands the Widow'… I don't let one over me even if it is a beautiful woman. That privilege is earned. That privilege was Angela's alone.

"**You think she's done this before?"**

I scoff. She's a con artist, for Christ's sake! There's only two things they're interested in- money and getting one over people. I couldn't have cared less for the gender of the person to be conned but this woman, she specializes in men. Not so strange but telling. She's a professional with loads of experience otherwise how could she have smelled trouble as swiftly as she did? She never gave a chance to be caught. She must have been sticking around for something.

She thinks she's such a mystery, an enigma. Every con artist has that flaw, the weakness of arrogance in their elusiveness. It was my downfall, my destruction. I will show her; I shall _make_ it so that it will be hers, as well. Not out of cruelty, but out of kindness. Because she doesn't know it but I have been burnt to ashes; I know how bad it can get. She doesn't know it but I'm saving her from a worse fate.

"**Twenty thousand."**

I feel Cho burning a hole in me with his unnaturally strong glare! I wasn't _really_ going to spend the money on myself; leaves too much of a bitter nauseous after-taste. I was honest in my charitable intentions but it seems they won't satisfy my honourable friend Cho. I don't mistake it as an imitation of Lisbon. This is personal to him. He sees it as my reversion to the past but it isn't.

I must reluctantly comply. Not because he's right but because I need him.

"**My name is **_**Angela**_** Dalibar."**

Right on target.

That hurt. I think she intended it to, or maybe I'm paranoid. I shouldn't let her faze me. I need to remain cool and calm. It helps that I'm looking at a reflection of my past, a part inside me. No matter how good she thinks she is, I need to outwit her. This isn't just to emboss my superiority- it's for the victim's sake and for this woman's own good. If she's on par with me, I have to be that one notch better. So I will.

"**Then you disappear from the record for a while, and when you come back, you're a con artist with two fraud convictions."**

I didn't expect her to be good to this degree. A caring home, good grades, hobbies, happy childhood, friends and popularity, beauty and talent, a healthy dollop of smartness. What's a woman like that doing in the police interrogation room? Why did she choose this willingly?

She's fierce in protecting her heart. She won't give me anything. Her stubbornness and cold determination to keep everyone out reminds me of myself. I genuinely feel sad. I could have helped her. But somehow I know she won't stop being what she is now. She's the only person who can convince herself to stop. It's a personal journey.

She has enough strength from her past. I hope she reaches there, though. I think I won't. Better her than me.

"**Filthy. No excuses, Stiles."**

I let the smile unfold. I know what she is but I can't help enjoy her work. Feels like a rush of affection as I watch her do what she does best. For now, Lindsey. For now.

"**I can already see my hair with a big chunk cut out."**

Lisbon is worrying because I've shared my suspicions about Hanson and she doesn't believe me. Scuff marks on his shoes? She thinks it doesn't prove anything. She's right. That's why this trap is good. That's why I flirt with her in all abandon. I don't feel any fear or shame. This flirting is safe. Because it's Lisbon. No matter what trouble I cause, she'll protect me. No matter what I do she'll give me herself. But it'll punctuate itself at that, nothing more. Lisbon won't allow it. It's enough for me.

So I don't need to know whether I will allow it or not.

"**I don't know about that, Agent Hayes. She's very good at what she does."**

Seduction huh… I'll give her that. She did prevent the money from disappearing before we found our killer and she helped spring the trap. Didn't like being conned that much, did she? But still, help in any form must be appreciated.

I hope ardently that she won't find herself in the ashes someday, like me. Nobody can guarantee that though, so, if she does, I hope, even more ardent, that she will meet _those_ people, who may help her bear herself once again, mend herself no matter how impossible it seems for her.

A family.


	13. Chapter 13

**The quote tells from which part of the episode these short insights are written. If you don't have access to the videos, get the transcripts or scripts (for season 1) online.**

**I do not own The Mentalist and make no money from this.**

Season 1 Episode 23

Red John episodes are the hardest…

"**Victim's name is Emma Plaskett."**

Rigsby's bugging me. He's hiding something. Not personal but something related to the crime scene, which is weird. Even Cho's looking troubled but manages to hide it well. But if it was this serious, Lisbon would have informed me and so I go ahead to do my job.

"**Lisbon!"**

Red.

Toe-nails painted in blood.

For a second I stare at my wife's feet, her toenails covered in her own blood. Their bodies mutilated with cuts. The smell of blood in our bedroom.

The next breath, I feel the clean country town air with that hint of blood.

I inhale.

It's red.

"**Look, it's strange. I'll give you that. But you're jumping to conclusions."**

I try my best to control the agitation rising like a tide inside me. We don't have _time_ to play this game of doubt. Because this is it.

I know it's him. I can feel him making it. That cut on her neck. I've seen it on my dead wife, how could I forget? He likes to keep their eyes open so that he can see the life drain out of them. Every mutilation, every physicality of the body is made for a reason. I struggle a moment to focus from the onslaught of my wife and daughter's slaughtered bodies.

Why is Lisbon being so stubbornly opposing? Does she think I want this to be what it is? Surely not. I would wish this death only for my bitterest enemy.

The smiley face in the sky is my invitation. Everyone else is horrified. I am jubilant.

At long last, the hunt is on.

"**Why so cruel? And since when do you care about statistics?"**

Why now, why these twins, why the change in MO and so on… I would've accepted these questions but cruel? I'm just moving according to police procedure. I always mock and hedge and lie or provoke. I don't want anyone to guess what I'm thinking. I've learnt it's a precaution that pays and it will pay _now_ more so than in any other case. But Lisbon won't help me if I don't share. It's a point of pride for her.

So I relent. This time I'm going to need her more than ever.

"**I tell you that only so you'll know that there isn't any point in lying to us."**

I want to move this along quickly. So I ruthlessly deconstruct the Noah-Arden couple, their one dead and one missing… Fathers always disgust me. He's immersed in religion rather than his wife and daughters and now has the nerve to hide their details as if they're something dirty. Has he never tortured himself over how his daughter got murdered and he couldn't lift a finger to save them rather than moaning over his pious little conflicts? How pathetic and powerless is he and he dares defend himself? Emma wouldn't care if the family name was sullied. She would care more for a chance that her sister can be found.

And she would be glad to see her murderer dead along the way.

That's what I intend to do.

"**Emma and Maya Plaskett."**

Watching Rigsby, Cho and Lisbon interrogate hundreds of suspect has made me combine their technique into mine. It only makes mine more formidable. I plan to start cop-like but soon my own instincts kick in. Lisbon persuaded Minelli to let me handle this alone, at great cost. Minelli himself knows that I need to do this now more than ever. I know everyone's watching us from the glass but it slips from my mind. I am extremely jittery yet focused. And that's why I don't have time or patience for coaxing and tiresome provocation. Bullshit is over-rated.

"**I will have you framed for murder, I will torture you, I will kill you myself. Whatever it takes."**

Like I said no bullshit. I start it as a con but it's true at heart. I remember the last time I got close to catching him. There will happen no similar mistake this time around. There's something rising inside me. A tide of overcooked agitation, raw nerves, impatience, a foreboding. I feel like getting a specific location right now to set forth and catch him. And then Guthrie's face dead-ends me. And I get frustrated.

Lisbon and Minelli are watching so I need to calm them back into their seats.

I need their flimsy trust the most right now.

"**And I'd like to look at the girls' room again if I may."**

I stare at the vanity table, the photographs. There's something that has missed my eye.

Breathe and focus. I can't afford to make a mistake again. That would be only advantageous to the enemy.

Angela would have liked the curtains… All lace and flowers. She would have liked to decorate them in Charlotte's room.

And then I hit pay dirt. I call for Lisbon like a siren wailing through traffic.

Red John's guy. Everything is in motion and he himself has set it to be so, aching for his own annihilation. Who am I to disappoint?

"**You've thought that before now. And you had that exact same bright look in your eye. Red John was a step ahead of us the whole time."**

Her cynicism has turned sourly into my impatience. This lover's letter is a mistake. This is out of his control.

I humour her. I try to point it out logically, the way she like it best.

I'm utterly convinced that we've a solid lead. I can't understand, why isn't she? Is it her 'cop' like nature? Is it her distrust in my argument? Does she think my patience has waned so much that it's affecting my judgment? She does. But what she doesn't understand is that I choose to believe in the one hopeful thread from those thousands of despairing possibilities- I have to. Otherwise I won't be able to keep up the strength while going at him.

"**There are only two Rosalinds in the Hattiesburg phone book. The other one is seventy-three, married."**

Her bite of angry sarcasm snatches my attention. Her brow is furrowed and her jaws are locked steely. She's taking it personally. Because it's personal for me or because I made it personal? I feel a twinge of regret that I hurt her. She's just being cautious and not getting her hopes up. Something I need to learn as I see that Rosalind Harker is blind. Just my luck when I thought it was actually luck that led me to her.

"**I can't do that, Rosalind. Let me explain why."**

He killed my wife and child. My only family.

Just to teach me a lesson in reality. Make me bow in humility.

What defense do I give? They were innocent; they had nothing to do with what I carelessly said on a stupid show. They didn't deserve to die for him to prove his power, his superiority, his conceited bloated ego. They wouldn't have died if I hadn't shown my arrogant own.

Now, you're the only chance I have to redeem myself. If I beg, will you consider?

If you won't then I … will simply con you.

"**That was brave of you."**

Lisbon is a champion of the innocent. I'm a specter, my mind devouring every detail of my Red Whale. Yes, finally a hazy picture. And best of all- Dumar, the elusive personal connection that is the key to this case and ultimately Red John. The satisfaction I get in this knowledge is inexpressible… His mistakes would cost him as mine cost me. I can almost taste the colour of my vengeance. Nothing can stop me now, not even my Red Whale himself.

"**If we catch him, he's not walking anywhere. He's mine."**

For one second, she looks at me in fear. There was no script that we decided to adapt while planning it! Besides she knew all of this from the start. I've even spelled it out for her! And yet she doubts my reason to live… I let my anger flow through and spew whatever comes to mind. Does she expect me to just give him up to the law after what he has done? Revenge isn't a switch to light at your own convenience. It's a constant spark that needs to be kept fuelled. It will only ever vanish when fulfilled.

"**Are you **_**threatening**_** me?"**

Her fierce angry hurt brings me back to myself. Have I gone too far? I don't let the chaste manifest. She can't divert from the plan now that it's already happening and we won't be able to talk. But I do feel a bit scared as she leaves with a final jab.

Will she or won't she?

"**Dammit, Lisbon. You were supposed to wait until Red John shows himself."**

I can't think how relieved I am right now that Lisbon has after all, turned up. I am only filled with frustration. Lisbon coming here can only mean that she checked the rooms upstairs. Red John has escaped. And my plan lay to waste. Pathetic. Useless. Powerless. And Lisbon is the only one I can expend my frustration on. I can't move from this blunder. Damn Lisbon and her righteousness!

"**Red John was right **_**here**_**. We were **_**this**_** close to catching him."**

Agony. Hot stinging agony. He had mocked me with my wife's ghost and I let him get away with it. If only Lisbon would've listened… In my pits of despair and self-loathing I don't realize that I had said 'we' and not 'I', who cares anyway? Be it me or us, we had failed spectacularly to catch my Red Whale. I wish I could wind the clock back and barge in here, smashing the door, he would never have known what hit him!

I don't want to admire Lisbon and how she's taking my frustration. I don't want to hear that we let Red John get away but managed to save an innocent life. I hate that it's so complex. I hate that I failed my wife and daughter. Is there any reason to live if I keep on failing to catch him? If I'm a failure then do I live?

"**But you'd be dead."**

"**And you'd have Red John."**

Doesn't she know? Captain Ahab does die even if he kills the Whale. I know what revenge costs. I'm willing to pay it and keep on paying however much more that it needs to complete it's purpose.

Revenge is animalistic, what made me human is dead. I can only survive with what is left. If I'm denied to fulfill the sole reason of why I live then

what am I?

I don't know and I don't want to find out. Isn't death far more preferable?

"**Some things can't be fixed. Needn't be angry. It's the way of the world."**

Amazing.

Lisbon is angry, yes. If I'm honest with myself, she has the right to be. She cares about me despite her forceful gruffness. She thinks that for a normally intelligent guy, I'm being dumb. I could pull out any excuse and it would sound hollow, empty in front of her pure concern. I've done nothing to deserve it. How does she find it in herself to offer it then? She knows my horrible shameful secrets yet she looks at me with undisguised possessiveness. They all do. They accept me. They feel I belong with them.

But I don't want that gift right now. It's too much.

"**He'll give us Red John."**

"**You're right, we have Hardy, yes."**

Immediately I feel guilty for being so harsh on her when she backs off her anger. So I back off too. We're left wanting to argue both of our points. But I realize that I respect her because they're so different. I try to sound enthusiastic but it comes off sarcastic. I don't want to hurt her anymore. It's all I've done through this time. She deserves better. She deserves something whole, pure and untainted. But she has been a rock. No matter what I threw at her she took it, chin up. Something warm slides down my throat.

Against my will, I feel a little better.

"**You need anything?"**

Gunshot.

It's a blur. Everything's way too fast.

He will kill her. I know it. No one else is here.

He's going to kill Lisbon. He's going to kill everything brave, smart, kind, right. Everything the world needs to keep on existing.

.

One heartbeat. A trigger pulled.

.

I don't remember picking up the shotgun from the Forensics Evidence table.

Her gun was holstered. By the time she had it positioned, it would have been too late. I was the one supposed to die. Not her.

Throwing away the smoking shotgun, I try to resuscitate Hardy. It wasn't even a proper aim! The gun went off mid-air; how could he die like that? He's the only hope I have to Red John. And I just killed him. But he doesn't mind it. He mocks me even in his death.

I hold off the crying, the angry wails.

Afterwards in my daze, I remember.

They say when man is confronted with the impossible, he will chose to do what he's most capable of.

And he might not like the conclusion, what that act tells about himself.

That's where they're wrong.

I smell the orange remembering Maya in her parents' arms.

I am glad that Lisbon is alive to tell me once again that, 'Next time. We'll get him.'


End file.
